


Put it With the Rest of the Garbage

by madsthenerdygirl



Series: i carry your heart with me [i carry it in my heart] [7]
Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Cuteness everywhere, Denise is Agent Mom, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, One Shot Collection, Polyamory, Rufus Deserves Better, Trash ot3, bunker family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-04-24 13:19:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 28,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14356326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madsthenerdygirl/pseuds/madsthenerdygirl
Summary: The perfectly random and completely out of order adventures of our nuclear trash fire OT3: Garcyatt.





	1. The Bet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A series of random, generally fluffy oneshots featuring our Perfect Trash OT3. Set vaguely in the Carry You in My Heart 'verse but you don’t have to read the "plot fics" to enjoy these.

Day 1

 

“I hereby call this bunker meeting to order,” Denise said. “And by that I mean Mason, shut up.”

Mason, for once, shut up.

“Okay then.” Denise looked from one person to the other, searching their faces. “The time has come for us to finally do something about this whole… thing… that’s been going on.”

“Do we have to?” Mason asked. “I’ve been making quite a lot of money on it.”

“Yeah, like you need it,” Rufus muttered.

“I’m with Denise,” Jiya said. “If I have to hear one more excuse from Lucy I’m going to lose my mind.”

“I walked in on them in the shower yesterday,” Rufus groaned. “I did not need to see that! How are they supposed to keep their relationship a secret if they can’t remember to put a damn chair in front of the door?”

“But how are we supposed to tell them?” Mason countered. “They think they’re doing such a good job of keeping it a secret.”

“God knows how, Wyatt’s fucking _loud_ ,” Jiya grumbled.

“We could make them a cake,” Rufus said. “With ‘congratulations on your polyamorous relationship’ written on it.”

“I have no idea how to fit all of that on a cake.”

“You just order it from the bakery, and tell them, they’ll put it on there.”

“I’m not picking up a cake that has _that_ written on it.”

“Well you wouldn’t pick it up, Denise would.”

“I’m not picking up any cakes,” Denise said. She sighed. “Look, Rufus, why don’t you just have a heart to heart with Wyatt on your next mission or something? Jiya, you can bring it up to Lucy.”

“Who’s going to bring it up to Flynn?” Mason asked.

“Nobody is bringing up anything to Flynn,” Rufus said quickly.

“I could bring it up to him,” Denise said.

“That sounds even worse,” Rufus added weakly. “No offense.”

“But Jiya has to give me twenty dollars every time Wyatt has to hide another hickey,” Mason groaned.

“I should just start giving you those twenties,” Rufus said. “Because she gets them from me every time Flynn grabs Wyatt’s ass.”

“You say that like I haven’t had to give you money every time Lucy lies about why she didn’t get any sleep the night before,” Denise pointed out. “But this is getting ridiculous, this kind of thing is exactly why we need to get them actually admit they’re in a relationship. We can’t keep paying each other money all the time!”

“Okay, how’s this,” Mason said. “We make a final bet on when they’ll tell us they’re dating each other. Whoever’s right, wins.”

“I’m game,” said Jiya.

“I bet it’ll take them a week,” Rufus said.

“A week? What kind of wimp am I dating? I can get Lucy to talk in three days.”

“I’ll get Flynn to crack in two,” Denise replied.

“You’re all doing this wrong, Wyatt’s the one who can’t keep a secret,” Mason said.

“And I’m telling you, we need to be subtle,” Rufus said. “Draw it out.”

“Sounds like we have a bet,” Denise said.

Jiya grinned. “Oh, this is so on.”

 

* * *

 

Day 2

 

“Hey, Lucy?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s that on your hip?”

“What? Oh, uh, Rittenhouse guy, uh, picked me up and threw me on the last mission.”

“You sure? Because the position of the bruises—”

“I was picked up and thrown, Jiya, not whatever… uh… crazy thing you’re thinking.”

“Okay.”

…

“On a completely unrelated note, do you really like doggy style?”

“Jiya what the hell?”

“I’m just saying, I personally never saw the appeal, but Rufus—”

“I’m not. We are not discussing. Your sex life with Rufus.”

“I’m just wondering if you had some insights. On why, you know, people like it so much.”

“I think it’s the domination aspect of it? You’re getting pinned down a bit?”

“I bet that’s real fun when there’s a height difference.”

“Oh yeah, there’s—not. Not that I. Uh. I never dated anyone with an um major height difference so anyway is the shower free yet? I think the shower’s free bye!”

 

* * *

 

Day 2.5

 

“Flynn.”

“Agent.”

“I’d like to know exactly what you think you’re up to.”

“Right now I’m up to making lasagna, but so glad to have you suspicious of me.”

“Don’t get smart with me. I’ve seen you sneaking around. Now what are you planning?”

“I’m not planning anything. Perhaps you’ve seen me walking quietly so as not to wake anyone else up? I am the earliest riser here.”

“Sneaking around is not the same as being quiet. You’re moving about at odd hours. Having private conversations. You ordered something off the internet and there’s no data trail as to what it was. I won’t have you sabotaging this.”

“I assure you, the only thing that’s going to be sabotaged is this sauce if you don’t pass me the basil.”

“Flynn. What. Are you. Up to. I can have you deported, you know, sent right back to prison in a hole so deep you’ll never get out. Put you in solitary—or put you back with the others, see how long Rittenhouse lets you last.”

“Cute threats, Agent, but you and I both know I’m still too valuable for you to do that. Besides, the others would pine terribly.”

“That’s the other thing, what are you doing with Logan and Preston? Corrupting them? I know you’re having private meetings with them—”

“Denise, why are you bothering Garcia while he’s cooking?”

“Ah, Lucy. Agent Christopher here was just asking me what the secret recipe was.”

“Sure she was. Denise, can I have a word?”

“Wipe that goddamn smirk off your face, Flynn, this isn’t over.”

 

* * *

 

Day 3.1

 

“Logan.”

“Mason.”

“You know, the lighting in this bunker is so strange sometimes. I almost thought I saw an odd shadow… right… there…”

“Mason why the fuck are you touching my neck.”

“Just pointing out where the shadow was. And here I thought you and Jessica had split for good.”

“We had. Your eyes were playing tricks on you.”

“You sure about that? Come, come, now, Mr. Logan, handsome man like yourself, other very attractive people in this bunker, I’d be rather surprised if something didn’t happen.”

“Mason?”

“Yes?”

“You see this punching bag I’m working on?”

“Yeeeees…”

“You see how _hard_ I’ve been hitting this punching bag?”

“Carry on, Mr. Logan.”

 

* * *

 

Day 3.2

 

“I got you your favorite!”

“Aww, thanks, you’re a… sweetheart…”

“What’s the face for.”

“Jiya, why did you give me my favorite beer?”

“Because you’re my favorite girlfriend?”

“I’m also currently your only girlfriend.”

“I thought we could drink some together!”

…

…

…

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to.”

“Me? Up to—I’m never up to—ha, that’s so funny, you thinking I’m… up to something…”

 

* * *

 

Day 3.3

 

“Hey, Wyatt.”

“Hey, Rufus. You tired?”

“A little. It’s Jiya, you know. I wish Agent Christopher would let us rearrange the bedrooms so she and I could share, you know? I just hate having to get up in the middle of the night or something. And then it’s all, we have to take turns on who’s sneaking where, and… it’s exhausting.”

“Tell me about it. The other day F…”

“Yes?”

“…fooooor instance, I walked in on Mason changing again. Not something I needed to see.”

“Yeah… well hey, maybe we can petition Christopher together. You know how she is.”

“You mean you’re still scared of her.”

“…yeah that too.”

 

* * *

 

Day 4

 

“J-just right th-there, yes, yes—”

“ _Fuck._ ”

“You’re doing beautifully—”

“So I was thinking that if we destabilized the coupling under the—”

…

…

…

“Is that Mason?”

“Shh, I think he’s talking to Rufus.”

“Do they have to do it right outside!?”

“This is a supply closet, Wyatt, I don’t think they were expecting anyone to be busy inside of it.”

“This was your goddamn idea, Garcia.”

“You thought it was hot.”

“No, what I said was—”

“Both of you, shut up!”

…

…

…

“They’re. Still. Talking. Why are they still talking?”

“It’s almost like they know they’re cockblocking us.”

“…do they know they’re cockblocking us?”

“We could just keep going.”

“Garcia!”

“Garcia!”

“What!? We’ll just be quiet…”

“Wyatt wouldn’t know quiet if it socked him in the jaw. No offense, sweetheart.”

“None taken.”

“I could cover his mouth?”

“We are _not_ having sex while _Mason_ and _Rufus_ are _outside talking about power couplings!_ ”

“If I find out they did this on purpose…”

“Garcia, how would they know we were in here? Unless they know about our…”

…

…

…

“…I’m going to kill them.”

“Luce—”

“No, no, Wyatt, don’t stop her, I want to watch this play out.”

“Put me _down_ Wyatt Logan, I’m going to kill them—”

“While you’re naked?”

…

“…you have a point.”

“But other than this setback the sex in the supply closet is a win, yes?”

“Don’t fucking push your luck, Garcia.”

 

* * *

 

Day 4.5

 

“Flynn. Care to tell me why we just received a package?”

“Oh, did my package arrive? Thank you, Agent.”

“I’m having the squad check it for bombs.”

“As long as I get it back.”

“What. Are you. Planning.”

“I’m not planning anything that concerns you or our missions, Agent.”

“We’ll see about that. Tell me what you’re up to.”

“You really, really don’t want to know.”

“I assure you that I really, really do.”

“…I assure you that you really, really don’t.”

“Flynn—”

“Would you look at the time, Wyatt and I have our sparring lesson now. Gotta run.”

 

 

* * *

 

Day 5

 

“Okay, okay, okay, but like… when the Lifeboat goes… whoosh? It should—it should make a whoosh sound.”

“My darling Lucy, exactly how many beers have you had?”

“Just enough.”

“Wyatt how many has she had.”

“Six.”

“I can’t believe Jiya let her get this drunk. What the hell were they talking about?”

“Booooyyyyyssss… Oh! You’re boys! You’re both boys! I like that.”

“Yes, you’ve said as much before.”

“Stop with the innuendos and help me get her into bed.”

“Wyatt, Wyatt, Wyatt, why are you cranky? Don’t you like us? You like us right?”

“Yes, Luce, I like you both.”

“Good! Because, I gotta tell you, I like you both. And so I was thinking… if I like you both, and you like us both, and Flynn likes us both… we should all… go on a cruise together.”

“…I did not think that’s where the sentence was going to go.”

“But it’s a cruise! Right! It’s a vacation! We deserve a vacation. I saw pictures of me and Noah in a tropical place somewhere and I was like I have always wanted to go somewhere tropical like the Bahamas or Hawaii or Bora Bora or the Maldives or—”

“Evening, gentlemen.”

“Evening, Mason.”

“Mason.”

“What are you doing?”

“Lucy here had a bit too much, we’re helping her to bed.”

“Ah. Nice of you. Don’t take advantage.”

“Oh they take advantage, all the time, they totally—”

“Right yes thank you Mason goodnight see you in the morning.”

“Ow! She fucking bit my hand!”

“You were _covering_ my _mouth_.”

 “Oh thank God, there’s her bed. The end is in sight.”

“…you guys aren’t gonna sleep with me?”

“We can’t, Luce, remember?”

“Okay but… would it be so bad? If the others knew? I mean they love us right? Not like we love each other. I don’t want to kiss them.”

“Good to know.”

“But, but, but they care about us and they won’t mind will they? I just… I want to fall asleep with you guys for once…”

…

…

“…Garcia if you fucking hog the blankets I’ll kick you out.”

“Same goes for you, Wyatt, and don’t think I won’t smother you if you start snoring.”

“Oh my gosh does this mean we’re gonna go on a cruise too?”

“Just go to sleep, Lucy darling.”

 

* * *

 

Day 6

 

“Morning Wyatt.”

“Coffee.”

“Cheerful as always. I’m doing great, it’s a good morning for me, thanks for asking.”

“Rufus. Coffee.”

“Here you go. So I heard you had a late night, Lucy getting drunk and all.”

“Yup.”

“She’s a real lightweight isn’t she?”

“Yup.”

“I heard she wants to go on a cruise?”

“Yup.”

“And that you had to carry her?”

“Yup.”

“And that you and she and Flynn are all dating?”

“Yup.”

…

“I WIN THE BET!”

“You win _nothing_ Rufus that was only six fucking days—”

“Closer to a week than the three days you all predicted.”

“Good mor—why is everyone yelling?”

“Coffee.”

“Ah, thanks Wyatt.”

“Lucy.”

“Still asleep.”

“Coffee.”

“You already have coffee, Wyatt, it’s in your hand.”

“Mmm.”

“Seriously _why is everyone yelling_?”

“Six days is still _not_ a week so technically nobody gets any money—”

“Six days is only one day off from a week and you all failed to hit your day marks—”

“I should get half the winnings I’m the one who got her drunk—”

“Garcia.”

“On it. Ahem. If you all could please shut up. My boyfriend’s trying to drink his morning coffee in peace.”

…

“Also, since we’re discussing this now apparently, the package has sex toys in it, Agent, I hope your team had fun searching that.”

“…I hate you, Flynn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This story is marked as complete but I will continue to add chapters here and there. I just don't know how/when and each oneshot is kind of a standalone so I'm marking it as complete.


	2. Wyatt is a Disaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by that one scene from Friends.

Everybody has a special talent. Lucy could remember dates extraordinarily well and she wasn’t a bad sketch artist either. Flynn was shit at drawing but had a knack for picking up different fighting styles very quickly. Jiya could now apparently see glimpses of Rufus’s future.

Wyatt… Wyatt was very good at panicking.

They were still keeping their little relationship on the down-low. Flynn and Lucy had obviously been dating while Wyatt was sorting things out with Jess, but once Wyatt was added to the mix and they’d all sorted themselves out they’d decided they wanted to keep things quiet at first. Just among themselves. They all still had issues to work out, all of them, and they wanted to get rid of the kinks in their relationship before they introduced the rest of the world—and the rest of the world’s opinions—to it.

But sometimes, it was just impossible to completely hide. Little habits were built up, and, well, sometimes what happened in the bedroom spilled over into the rest of their lives.

Rufus, Wyatt, and Lucy were headed off on a mission. Flynn was sitting on the couch—apparently now _his_ couch, which he generously allowed Lucy to sit on with him—his feet propped up on the coffee table, reading a book. Jiya was sitting at the table, still nibbling on her breakfast. Mason was in front of his various computers. And Denise was standing with her arms folded, looking serious as always.

“Good luck,” she told them.

Rufus kissed Jiya goodbye, saying something to her quietly. Lucy’s kiss to Flynn was a bit longer than that, the kind of kiss you gave when the relationship was still something new and exciting, the kind of kiss that made other people roll their eyes.

Everybody stopped rolling their eyes when Wyatt walked over.

Because Wyatt kissed Flynn too.

It wasn’t a peck on the lips, either. There was absolutely no way that this kiss was in any way platonic.

Everyone stared. Including Lucy.

Wyatt straightened up slowly, and for a moment, it was just the two men kind of smiling at each other, a soft look in their eyes.

Then Wyatt remembered: keeping the relationship secret.

Oh, fuck.

“Jiya!” Wyatt said quickly, walking over to her and kissing her full on the lips. Rufus’s mouth dropped open. “Take care, sweetheart. Denise!”

Denise Christopher looked like she would rather be back on the front lines then have Wyatt kissing her.

“Always a pleasure. Mason!”

Mason looked like someone had just told him the past year was a lie and he’d actually been in a coma for the whole thing.

“You’ve been good this week,” Wyatt told him. “All right, everyone take care, see you all when we get back!”

He then climbed into the Lifeboat.

“…what he said,” Lucy added, her voice strangled, and then she got into the Lifeboat as well.

“For the record,” Rufus said, climbing in last and grabbing the door, “I have no idea what that was about.”

He closed the door and the Lifeboat vanished.

Everyone looked at Flynn.

Flynn smirked. “You gotta admit, he’s a good kisser.”

Meanwhile, on the Lifeboat…

“So if you two just want to leave me behind in the 1800s I really, really don’t mind.”


	3. Displays of Affection

Flynn and Wyatt had discovered, over the course of their starting to date each other and Lucy, that they were actually very similar in many ways. There were more serious ways that this played out, like when one of them would get insomnia—Flynn over what he’d done trying to end Rittenhouse and the loss of his family, Wyatt over his tours of duty—but there were also more unexpected ways that it crept into their lives.

Case in point: Rufus was now staring at a huge bouquet of red roses.

“Um…”

“The order said to bring them for a Wyatt Logan?” the deliveryman asked.

How Flynn had even gotten the company to deliver to the middle of fucking nowhere, Rufus didn’t know. This was probably violating so many protocols.

Thing was, Lucy had gotten a lovely, small, tasteful bouquet just a day ago. Pink roses, her favorite. Rufus had been fortunate—and by that he meant very unfortunate—enough to see her enthusiastically thanking Flynn for them.

…so why the fuck was Wyatt now getting an even bigger bouquet? Did Wyatt even _like_ flowers?

“I’ll take these for him,” Rufus said, deciding that getting this delivery guy far, far away from the top secret bunker was much more important than whatever fucked up thing Flynn and the other two were doing in their weird relationship now.

Honestly. Rufus might not have been around the block himself much but he’d seen other people go around the block, sometimes at very high speeds, and this wasn’t the first polyamorous relationship he’d seen.

It was definitely the weirdest, though.

“Wyatt!” Rufus called, making his way through the bunker and knowing he looked like an idiot with this gigantic fucking bouquet. “Delivery for you!”

Jiya peeked her head out of her room and started giggling. “ _What_ are _those_?” she cackled.

Lucy also peeked her head out. Her eyes went comically wide for a moment, then she sighed. “Garcia. Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely not what? Who’s calling me?” Wyatt asked, emerging from the bathroom.

He stopped dead in his tracks, his jaw dropping open.

Then his eyes narrowed.

“Oh no you fucking don’t,” he growled. He turned on his heel and stormed past Lucy into the room he shared with her and Flynn.

Lucy walked over and took the flowers. “Thank you, Rufus, you’re very thoughtful to bring these to him.”

“Anybody want to tell me what’s going on?” Rufus asked.

“I take it you didn’t read the card,” Lucy said dryly.

Rufus pulled the card out of his pocket. “I figured it said something disgusting about being the moon and stars or whatever.”

Lucy sighed and held out her hand. “The card, please, Rufus.”

Well, hold on now, he was curious. He flipped the card over.

_Thanks for the amazing blowjob. Your move._

“Jiya? Light of my life? Do we have any bleach I could scrub my brain with?”

“This means _war_ , Garcia!” Wyatt yelled from inside the bedroom, from which Rufus could hear what sounded like furious typing noises.

Flynn finally emerged from the kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal. “Sorry? What?”

“Children,” Lucy declared. “I am dating children.”

 

* * *

 

Apparently the next volley in the Flynn versus Wyatt war of… whatever was going on, happened just a week later.

When Rufus entered the kitchen to find some freshly made chocolate chip cookies.

Oh, fuck yes. He was _so_ going to devour these.

He reached his hand out—

Only to have it promptly smacked away by Wyatt.

“Ouch! What the hell? You can’t share?”

“They’re for Flynn only,” Wyatt said firmly. “Don’t touch.”

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait.” Rufus eyed the cookies suspiciously. “You said you can’t cook. Or bake.”

“I can’t.”

“Then who made these cookies?”

“I did.”

“How?”

“I learned how. Took me all night, but I. Learned. How.”

Come to think of it there was kind of a crazy gleam to Wyatt’s eyes that was making Rufus want to edge out of the room. “Um… why?”

“Because they’re Garcia’s favorite, Wyatt, sweetheart, really?” Lucy said, coming into the room wearing… yup, that sweatshirt did not originally belong to her.

“He started this,” Wyatt replied.

“…he was just being sweet.”

Wyatt pointed his spatula at Lucy. “Nope. Nope, when he does stuff for _you_ , he’s just being sweet. When he does stuff for _me_ , it’s a challenge.”

“I think you’re reading a little too much into this.”

“Oh, yeah? Then ask him.”

Rufus was starting to put the puzzle pieces together. “Hold on. Are you telling me that you and Flynn are… giving each other romantic gifts… as a kind of contest?”

“It’s war,” Wyatt replied. “And I am winning.”

“Neither of you are going to be winning soon enough,” Lucy mumbled in a very, very dangerous tone of voice that made Rufus so very grateful he was not dating her.

“Okay, so, I’m just going to go back to my perfectly normal non-competitive girlfriend now,” he said. “I’ll leave you to it.”

He scrambled for the door.

 

* * *

 

Flynn’s retaliation was, probably, something Rufus should’ve seen coming. A bunch of red roses, the guy was practically screaming traditional romance.

Still, could he be blamed for thinking that maybe the chocolates were for everyone?

“Touch those and die,” Flynn said casually. He was lounging on the couch that technically belonged to everyone but really apparently just belonged to him now, and also Lucy and Wyatt because they made out with him on a regular basis.

“Let me guess,” Rufus said, setting down the really very tasty and elaborate looking boxes—yes, multiple boxes—of chocolates. “They’re for Wyatt only.”

“Oh, and for Lucy of course if she wants them,” Flynn said. “But yes they’re for Wyatt. So no touching.”

“What, is it the anniversary of the day you first had sex or something?”

Flynn had the gall to look appalled, like he didn’t turn everything into an innuendo. “They’re for the time I shot him, Rufus, I am truly dismayed that you think all I care about is sex.”

“A month ago you made him a cake that said ‘nice ass’, what the hell am I supposed to think?” Rufus held up a hand as Flynn opened his mouth. “You know what, don’t answer that. I don’t know what I’m supposed to think anymore.”

Lucy came in and picked up the card. She read it, cooed, and then picked up a box of chocolates.

“Those have nuts in them,” Flynn said, not even looking up from his paper.

Lucy set the box down and grabbed another.

“Yup,” Flynn confirmed.

Lucy blew him a kiss and then disappeared with the chocolate box.

Off Rufus’s look, Flynn said, “We realized that if we were going to be aggressively getting each other gifts, we needed to keep giving her gifts too.”

“Why do I have the feeling that she’s the one holding the leashes in this relationship?” Rufus wondered aloud.

Flynn smirked. “Sometimes literally.”

“OKAY SEE THAT IS WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT.”

 

* * *

 

Rufus didn’t know what to think anymore. “You made him a mixtape.”

“Yup.” Wyatt was grinning proudly.

“…you realize this is 2018.”

“We’re traveling through time, now he can play it in the past too.”

Rufus took the tape cover from him. “So what does it—”

“You really don’t want to—”

“…Wyatt this is the sappiest mixtape I have ever had the displeasure of looking at.”

“Oh, what, like I was going to half-ass it.” Wyatt snorted. “Hell no. He thinks he’s going to win this thing. He wants sappy and romantic? _I will give him sappy and romantic._ ”

“You two are absolutely terrifying, did you know that?” Rufus looked over at Lucy, who was happily humming along, earbuds in, while she was sorting some papers. “Are you paying attention to any of this?”

“What?” Lucy took an earbud out. “Sorry, Wyatt made me a mixtape, I got distracted.”

Wyatt just grinned proudly.

 

* * *

 

“A Faberge egg.”

Flynn nodded.

“You want us to stay an extra hour or two, in Russia, during the revolution, to steal a Faberge egg.”

“Well it gets stolen and lost to time anyway,” Flynn said. “I’ll just be the one stealing it this time.”

“Apparently the color matches Wyatt’s eyes,” Lucy called from the other side of the room where she was examining some artifact or other.

“This is absolute lunacy,” Rufus said. He could hear his voice growing a little high pitched and hysterical, but he really couldn’t care less. “I get that you two are locked in some weird mating ritual that literally no other animal in the world, human, mammal or otherwise, understands, but really? I’m putting my foot down.”

“He made me a mixtape, Rufus! I can’t let him win!”

“Aren’t… relationships… not supposed to be about… winning?” Rufus looked over at Lucy. “And this doesn’t concern you at all?”

Lucy paused. “Do I also get a Faberge egg?”

“Would you like a tiara instead?”

“Yes, please.”

“This is insane!” Rufus shouted, waving his arms. “I’m not letting you two do this!”

One Faberge egg and a tiara later, they climbed into the Lifeboat.

 

* * *

 

“I think Rufus is starting to have a breakdown.”

Wyatt blinked back awake. He’d been happily drowsing with his head on Flynn’s shoulder but now somebody was talking. “Hmm?”

Lucy poked the both of them again. Ouch. “I said, I think Rufus is starting to break down. You two need to knock it off.”

“But _cher_ , it’s so much _fun_ ,” Flynn protested.

“Don’t you _cher_ me, Garcia. You two could have done this without parading it in front of him. The poor guy looks like he’s going to have an aneurysm.”

Wyatt reached over to tuck some of Lucy’s hair behind her ear. She was resting with her head on Flynn’s chest—luckily Flynn didn’t mind his boyfriend and girlfriend using him as a human pillow. “If you think it’s what’s best, Luce.”

Flynn gave a long-suffering sigh. “I suppose we could… be more discreet.”

“Good boys,” Lucy said.

“This will be a little awkward considering my next move was to take Wyatt to the Eiffel Tower,” Flynn mused.

“Eiffel Tower? I’ll see you your Eiffel Tower and raise you the goddamn Taj Mahal.”

“The Taj Mahal was built after the guy’s wife died, sweetheart,” Lucy mumbled. “Don’t think that’s a great omen.”

“But—”

“Shhh,” Lucy said, clamping her hands over their mouths. “Sleep now, plan your weird mating rituals later.”

Silence reigned for a moment or two. Then Flynn mused…

“Did Rufus ever figure out that sexual favors were also involved?”

Wyatt and Lucy spoke simultaneously. “ _No, Garcia_.”


	4. Brush Up Your Shakespeare

Those who knew Flynn well probably already guessed this going by his over the top, dramatic behavior, up to and including his one-liners, but he was rather a fan of theatre—Shakespeare, to be precise.

This tended to show up, as most things did, in relation to Lucy and Wyatt.

He most often used it, at least according to the others, to annoy the hell out of Wyatt.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”

“Shall I compare you to a pain in my ass?”

“And here we see the odd mating dance of the Garcia Flynn and the Wyatt Logan,” Rufus muttered. “The Flynn primarily tries to piss the Logan off, while the Logan shows his affection through insults.”

“I can hear you, Rufus,” Wyatt groused.

He used it in other ways as well, though, although they were more… private ways.

There was the time that Lucy had to be left behind while the boys went on a mission, and found a small piece of paper tucked into her jacket pocket:

_When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,_

_I all alone beweep my outcast state,_

_And trouble deaf heaven with my booted cries,_

_And look upon myself and curse my fate,_

_Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,_

_Features like him, like him with friends possessed,_

_Desiring this man’s art, and that man’s scope,_

_With what I most enjoy contented least,_

_Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,_

_Haply I think on thee—and then my state,_

_Like to the lark at break of day arising,_

_From sullen earth sings hymns at heaven’s gate._

_For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings,_

_That then I scorn to change my state with kings._

Then there was the time that Lucy was already asleep and so Wyatt and Flynn went to shower without her, and Flynn whispered, quietly, mouth right at Wyatt’s ear:

“My love is a fever, longing still,

“For that which longer nurseth the disease,

“Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,

“Th’uncertain sickly appetite to please.”

And then there was when they’d been after Carol, had found where she was hiding out, and when Lucy asked if Flynn wanted to go, he looked at her and said,

“I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes—and moreover I will go with thee to thy mother’s.”

“I don’t know whether to call you a sap or a smartass,” Wyatt had grumbled.

“You’ll get a quote too, if you want.”

“Who said I wanted one!?”

Lucy seemed to just accept the quotations with grace. She blushed when Flynn said something romantic and only occasionally rolled her eyes when he got dramatic. Wyatt protested—protested overmuch, one might say—but if Flynn was very, very sweet about it and very, very quiet and nobody else was around to see it, Wyatt would lean back into Flynn and just let the words wash over him.

Probably Flynn’s proudest moment, though, was when Lucy looked Nicholas dead in the eyes and told him, with venom sparking in her eyes and infusing every inch of her voice,

“I will eat your heart in the marketplace.”

At that point no one was even sure she was talking metaphorically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes are from, in order: Sonnet 18, Sonnet 29, Sonnet 147, Much Ado about Nothing (Act V, Scene II), and Much Ado about Nothing (Act IV, Scene I).


	5. Misunderstandings

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m telling you, I’ll be fine.”

“You could tear something.”

“But I won’t.”

“Look, _cher_ , if this is just to prove a point—”

“No, no, Wyatt brought up the idea and I’m saying it’s an interesting idea and I want to try it. Besides, it’s only two.”

“ _Only_ two. You say that like one isn’t big enough.”

“It’s going to cause a hell of a mess.”

There was a moment’s pause, then a sigh, and then someone—he thought it was Flynn—said, “Okay, spread your legs.”

Rufus really, really didn’t want to hear what he was hearing right now. He didn’t even want to think about it. First of all, Lucy was obviously insane. Second of all, how would the logistics of… movement… even work?

Also why the fuck were they doing this in the kitchen?

Then he rounded the corner.

“Oh, for crying out loud!”

Lucy was sitting, triumphantly, on the kitchen table, holding two popsicles, one in each hand. Her legs were spread to accommodate the bowl resting between them, apparently to catch stray juice and prevent it from staining the floor. There was juice all over her face but she was grinning like a maniac. “See?” she told Wyatt. “I told you I could do both.”

Wyatt had his arms folded and still looked disbelieving. Flynn looked torn between concern and amusement. Then he noticed Rufus.

“Rufus, whatever is that face for?” he asked.

Rufus shook his head. “Nothing. Look, can you guys—never mind. Just never mind.”

He really needed to get out of this damn bunker and away from those three lunatics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Rufus deserves better.


	6. Property of Flynn

There were a lot of unofficial rules for the bunker.

There were official rules as well, rules that were very helpfully taped to the refrigerator. Those rules were things like how and when one could leave the bunker, the rule about putting the chair in front of the bathroom, and how nobody except for Mason or Rufus was allowed to tinker with the Lifeboat.

But there were also, as always happens in any household, unofficial rules that just kind of sprang up that everybody adopted in order to get along with one another and not kill each other.

Those rules included things like, don’t talk to Wyatt in the morning before he’s had his coffee unless your name is Lucy or Flynn and you are also bearing said coffee and are prepared to be very, very cuddly and soft about the whole thing. There was the rule about how you just didn’t touch Mason’s food, just don’t, nobody wants to get treated to that five-hour lecture again, and nobody was allowed to sneak up on Jiya or startle her after she nearly gouged Flynn’s eye out with a screwdriver. Thursday nights were Critical Role nights and Jiya and Rufus were not to be disturbed for God or money, and all Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, regardless of who originally bought it, was apparently property of Denise Christopher.

And then there was the Flynn Rule.

There were actually several Flynn Rules, most of which only applied to if you were one of the two people sleeping with him, but the biggest one was Everything Belongs to Flynn.

Promptly upon moving into the bunker, he had taken over the couch. It was His Couch Now. Anyone else who tried to sit on that couch got an honest to God growl and a death glare.

Same with this one chair. Nobody else got that chair. He’d prop his feet up on the table and sit in that chair, rocking back so that it was only on two legs, flipping through some book or other.

The coffee maker was Flynn’s Coffee Maker. It became everyone else’s coffee maker once Flynn was done with it, but in the mornings, that was Flynn’s and you Did Not Touch.

Of course, all rules have exceptions. As did this rule.

Lucy was the first exception.

The furniture might as well have had a sign on it that said This Chair is Mine and Nobody Can Touch (Except Lucy).

She got to sit on the couch, she got to sit in the chair, she got to use the coffee maker in the mornings. She could steal food off of Flynn’s plate and would only get an indulgent smile rather than a formal declaration of war. When Rufus once grabbed Flynn’s shirt by accident going through the laundry, Flynn had given him a look that had told him if it was possible to set someone on fire with their eyes, Flynn would’ve done it. Yet when Lucy walked around wearing Flynn’s socks, Flynn’s shirt, Flynn’s sweaters, Flynn’s beloved leather jacket, Flynn did nothing but silently preen.

Later on, all three—Lucy, Wyatt, and Flynn—would think that it was Wyatt’s epic Kiss Mixup that had clued everyone in about the relationship. Or the hickeys they were all sporting. Or something.

But in reality, it was the fact that one day Wyatt had walked in, and sat down on Flynn’s Do Not Touch Except Lucy Couch…

And Flynn had let him.

They’d all stared. Rufus nearly dropped his water glass.

There was Wyatt, sitting on the couch, sipping a beer, flipping through a magazine on racecars.

And Flynn was just standing over by the sink, washing dishes… and not killing Wyatt.

Everyone looked from Wyatt, to Flynn, back to Wyatt, back to Flynn.

“Maybe he just hasn’t noticed?” Jiya whispered at Rufus.

Then Flynn turned around—clearly saw Wyatt—and said, “Do you want another beer?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Wyatt called.

Mason, Jiya, Denise and Rufus all looked at each other.

Definitely dating.


	7. An Interlude

It took a while since they had to wrangle their schedules into the right place. Lucy had suggested that they get what they needed back in time on a mission, but they couldn’t wait around for the engravings to get finished or anything so that was out.

They did a lot of research online, trying to find things that would suit all of their tastes but carry a universal theme. Flynn was good with either gold or silver, but both Lucy and Wyatt preferred the latter so that’s what they went with. Neither man wanted anything sparkly, but Lucy had always loved the idea of something sparkling, even if her experience with Noah had put her off the idea of diamonds.

It wasn’t that they were doing anything official. In the first place, no judge would have allowed it, and neither would most religions. None of them were all that religious anyway, although sometimes, when they were in the past in Europe among the gorgeous old churches, Flynn would step into one and light a candle for his wife and daughter. She’d been religious, he told them once, and he liked to think that Lorena would appreciate him doing so.

And besides, why have a hullabaloo about it? None of them had any family left. Amy was nonexistent, literally, Henry was dead and not even her adoptive father in this timeline, and Carol didn’t count anymore. Wyatt’s parents were both dead and he had no siblings. Jess would have been happy to hear of him moving on, but none of them knew where she was now—for her own safety. And all of Flynn’s family were long dead. What was the purpose of making a fuss if there was nobody to make a fuss to?

But just because there was no ceremony, no big day, nothing official, didn’t mean that there wasn’t meaning to it. It didn’t mean that there wasn’t a promise in those bands, wrapped around their fingers. Flynn wore two, the ring from his first marriage shifting over to his right hand. Wyatt discarded his. If Jess were still dead—that would be one thing. But a divorce… well, that was another.

Whenever one or two of them went on a mission without the other, the person left behind put their ring on the Lifeboat. That way there’d be no way to forget. Just like with Denise’s flash drive. There would always be proof, no matter what changed in the timeline. It wasn’t much, but it might be enough—enough to keep them from losing each other.

It was Jiya, incidentally, that gave them an idea on how to make the rings all link together. She’d snorted at Flynn one day, “You and your poetry. Do you have Shakespeare on your wedding ring or something?”

They’d gone with Neruda, and not Shakespeare, in the end. There’d been quite a few intense discussions on literature that had sprung out of it as they’d searched through book after book of poetry for the perfect three lines.

When they picked it all out and had it settled, they persuaded Denise to look the other way while they left the bunker and went to a local shop they’d picked out on the internet.

The rest of the day was simple. They went on a walk. Saw a movie. Went to a park and lay in the grass. Lucy and Flynn got into a “who knows more about history” contest while Wyatt dozed with his head in Lucy’s lap. Lucy climbed a tree, ignoring Wyatt who was telling her that you’re an adult, Luce, not twelve, get down before you snap your neck and Flynn just laughed and took pictures.

They took Lucy dress shopping and snuck into a stadium to catch the tail end of a baseball game for Wyatt. They saw the second half of _Much Ado about Nothing_ at the annual Shakespeare in the Park for Flynn.

Then they went back to the shop and picked up the rings.

Lucy had gone with aquamarine for her stone. She loved light blue. It looked so soft to her, so calming.

The inscription on the inside was different for each of them. It started with Flynn’s:

_I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,_

Then continued with Lucy’s,

_I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;_

And ended with Wyatt’s.

_so I love you because I know no other way._

And so it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ring quotations are three lines of XVII, one of Pablo Neruda’s One Hundred Love Sonnets series. The full poem just seemed to fit them so well.


	8. Negotiations

Wyatt stared at the image on the computer. “It’s not going to work,” he announced.

He was usually the least adventurous of the three when it came to things like this.

“Why not?” Flynn asked, leaning over his shoulder. “Looks pretty easy to me.”

“Easy for you, you mean, if you’re Person A, which I assume you are,” Wyatt replied. “But look, I’ll suffocate Lucy.”

“You’re not going to suffocate me,” Lucy replied.

“I just don’t see how we could possibly—”

“Come here,” Lucy said, getting up and lying on the ground. She waved Wyatt over. “I’m serious.

“I’m telling you, this position doesn’t actually work, it’s way too awkward,” Wyatt said, but he got down on all fours anyway, positioning himself so that Lucy’s head was between his legs and vice versa.

“See?” Lucy said. “We just need to prop my back and head with pillows.”

“If we did it so I’m standing off the bed…” Flynn said musingly, tilting his head to look at the two of them.

“This is ridiculous,” Wyatt said. “One of us is going to get hurt. And I know I said that last time, but I mean it this time.”

“Hey, did you know there’s a crack in this ceiling that looks like a bunny?” Lucy asked, staring up at the ceiling from in between Wyatt’s legs.

“I say we try it, what’s the worst that can happen?” Flynn asked.

“You just want to try it because you get a two for one deal,” Wyatt said.

“I got a two for one deal yesterday,” Lucy pointed out.

“Yeah, and it took us a month of prep to get you worked up to it. How are your hips working out for you?” Wyatt asked.

“I didn’t hear you complaining at the time,” Lucy shot back. “And it’s not like I’m limping or anything.”

“I love how you two are having this conversation while you’re still in the position,” Flynn said fondly.

Wyatt flipped him off but before he could actually get up, Rufus entered.

“Hey guys, Denise just said…” he froze.

Lucy was lying on the floor. Wyatt was on all fours over her, his head hovering between her spread legs, and Flynn was standing rather close to Wyatt’s ass…

“I don’t want to know what’s going on here, do I?” he asked.

“Negotiation is a very important—” Flynn began.

“Nope, I really don’t want to know. Meeting in ten, please be dressed.” Rufus turned on his heel and quickly walked out.

“It’s a sign from the universe,” Wyatt said. “We’re not trying the position.”

Lucy and Flynn locked eyes.

They were late for the meeting and Wyatt had a dazed look in his eyes, but he agreed to try it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen negotiating positions is important, says the author who had to research a lot of threesome positions.


	9. Pet Names

Everyone quickly noticed the pattern.

All three called one another pet names, although those pet names varied from person to person. All three, the rest of the group learned, had sort of their own assigned pet name from each of the others.

Flynn was the most obvious. He called both Lucy and Wyatt ‘darling’, although he only dared to say it to Wyatt in German—but German wasn’t that far away enough from English, and it didn’t take a course in the language to know what _liebling_ meant. And _cher_ , when said to Lucy… well, everybody knew what that word meant, French or no.

Lucy, it took them a bit. Jiya was the one who noticed that she only called Wyatt sweetheart, and not Flynn. Rufus was the one who noticed that Lucy would call Flynn ‘handsome’ or ‘stud’, the second more teasing than the first but both of them said quietly, with hooded eyes and a mischievous smile.

Wyatt was the hardest to figure out. He called Lucy “Luce” but that just felt like a nickname, one that he said in front of others. Mason, of all people, was the one to overhear him calling Lucy “honey,” wrapping her in a hug and asking her what was wrong. It was something he only said to her quietly, lovingly, when she was feeling down. It was those moments, at least if you asked Denise, the only other married person, that Wyatt probably felt the most like a husband.

Finding out what he called Flynn was an accident—they were on a mission and Flynn had wanted to get rid of some people who’d seen a little too much.

“Babe,” Wyatt said, rolling his eyes, “we can’t shoot the witnesses.”

Rufus had just gaped at Wyatt, far, far more concerned about what Wyatt said than he was about Flynn wanting to shoot people. Flynn always wanted to shoot somebody. The other day he’d wanted to shoot Mason for using up the last of the hot water.

“What did you just say?”

“I told him not to shoot anybody,” Wyatt said. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason.”

Rufus didn’t wait a second to tell the others, but none of them believed him until a couple of weeks later when Flynn and Denise were arguing at the table. Wyatt, who hadn’t slept a wink the night before, walked behind Flynn, squeezing his shoulder as he passed and saying, “stand down, babe, it’s really not that important.”

Everyone immediately paused, but Flynn gave them all the death glare. It was a look that clearly said _if you let him realize you heard him say it he’ll never call me that again and I will slaughter you all._

The pattern, though, the one that everybody noticed… that was all Flynn.

Calling Lucy _mon coeur_ or _ma vie_ , didn’t get too much of a reaction.

Saying she was _mon canard_ , that got the corners of her mouth to twitch upward.

Lucy managed to keep up a pretty good poker face, though, right on through _mon ange_ and _trésor_ … but finally lost it at _mon petit chou._

“Really?” she asked, laughing. “Really, Garcia?”

“What does that mean?” Rufus whispered to Mason.

“My tiny sweet bun,” Mason whispered back.

Turned out, though, that with Lucy, Flynn was just getting warmed up.

The real fun came with Wyatt.

Calling Wyatt _schatzi_ got an eye roll. So did _engel_. Everyone thought Wyatt would crack at _honigbiene_ but, surprisingly, that didn’t get too much of a reaction, positive or negative.

 _Mausebär_ got a huff of laughter from Lucy. When Wyatt looked at her in betrayal, she only shrugged and said, “What? It’s kind of accurate. Mousebear,” she added, cooing the last word.

Wyatt chucked his fries at her.

 _Schnecke_ was not only accurate given that Wyatt was not a proper human being in the morning until he got his coffee, but actually seemed to be an acceptable nickname. Although that might have had something to do with how Flynn would say it softly, fondly, pressing coffee into Wyatt’s hand and rubbing his back to wake him up.

 _Schmusebärchen_ apparently—according to the internet when Rufus looked it up—meant ‘little cuddle bear’ and that, to the astonishment of everyone, did not earn Flynn a black eye.

 _Igelschnäuzchen_ , though—little hedgehog snout—yeah, that apparently got Flynn no sex for a week, if the way all three of them were grouchy at each other was any indication.

By now everyone knew what was going on. Flynn had to be looking up the most annoyingly sweet and ridiculous German terms of endearment he could find—he had to. How else would he find a word that apparently meant ‘honey cake horse’ and use it on Wyatt right when Wyatt was letting Flynn help him out of the Lifeboat?

It was a bit of a spectator sport, now, seeing how far Flynn could get before Wyatt had a brain aneurysm or Lucy killed the both of them.

The pattern—or game, rather—ended in a way that really nobody had expected.

They should’ve seen it coming, though. Wyatt was a tactician, after all.

Because one day Wyatt, who’d clearly done some digging for this one, called Flynn, _schnuckiputzihasimausierdbeertörtchen_.

How he’d even learned to pronounce that entire damn thing, nobody knew.

When Rufus looked it up later, it turned out that word ranked 139th for terms of endearment on a German baby name website, and roughly translated to, “cutie pie bunny mouse strawberry tart.”

“It sounds like someone combined a lullaby with a sneeze,” Jiya noted.

The most important part was that when Wyatt said it, a kind of calm, placid, and decidedly evil gleam in his eye, Flynn gaped at him for a good thirty seconds before looking at Lucy and saying, “all right. He wins.”

Nobody knew, or wanted to know, what Wyatt had won, but after that, Flynn stuck strictly to darling or, in those early morning hours, _schnecke._

But then, nobody needed to know about that last one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, those are all real pet names.


	10. He Slices, He Dices

Nobody was surprised that Wyatt couldn’t cook.

“I’m kind of—should I be insulted that you all aren’t surprised?” he asked.

“Sweetheart, you lived off whatever the hell rations they give you, nobody’s surprised,” Lucy said, patting him consolingly on the arm.

Everybody was actually pretty surprised that Lucy couldn’t cook.

“Amy was the one who liked cooking,” she said, “Not me. I was too busy studying and all that, I just ate ramen.”

Flynn, however, surprised everyone.

“What?” he asked when Mason stopped dead, staring.

“What are you doing?” Mason demanded, as though Flynn were constructing a bomb instead of putting chicken in a marinade.

“…making dinner for Lucy and Wyatt,” Flynn replied slowly.

Mason took in everything around him. Flynn was wearing a button-up shirt but the sleeves were carefully rolled up, exposing his forearms and keeping everything out of the way of the sauce. He even had an apron. Ingredients were carefully lined up and the oven was preheated.

“You… you’re making dinner?”

“Yes?” Flynn frowned at him. “I used to make dinner all the time. Lorena wasn’t fond of doing it.”

“And you—you make dinner… often?”

“Where did you think all the dinners in the fridge came from?”

“I thought Denise brought them or something,” Mason protested.

“Denise?” Flynn sounded offended. “I made all of those!”

“Something smells good!” Lucy said, coming in wearing Wyatt’s boxers and Flynn’s t-shirt. “Dinner, handsome?” she kissed Flynn on the cheek. “Wyatt’s napping.”

Mason pointed at the food. “Did you know about this?”

Lucy frowned at him. “…that my boyfriend cooks me food? Um, yes?”

Flynn preened.

Mason gestured. “But he’s—he’s—”

Lucy raised her eyebrows. “He’s…?”

“Nothing.” Mason threw up his hands in despair and stalked out of the kitchen.

“What was that about?” Lucy wondered.

“I’m not sure,” Flynn wondered. “Here, try this, I’m doing something new.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't tell me the sight of Flynn with his sleeves rolled up in an apron making you dinner won't have you swooning.


	11. We Pick Ourselves Undone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "Flaws" by Bastille (I prefer the acoustic version personally).

Wyatt snuck into the bunker as quietly as he could. Everyone was—or should be—asleep.

He took off his shoes and crept down the hall in his socks, then carefully eased open the door to the bedroom.

It was dark, but he knew his way by instinct and touch alone. He reached the bed—and there, yes, Lucy in the middle, curled up in to a ball. One hand was outstretched, towards the empty space in front of her at the edge of the bed. Where Wyatt usually slept.

He took her hand and kissed it, gently running his thumb over her knuckles. She didn’t stir.

“We wondered where you’d got to.”

Wyatt didn’t jump, but it was a near thing. Flynn’s voice came from higher up than he expected and he turned to see Flynn was sitting up in bed, his back to the wall.

“You didn’t have to wait up.”

“We wanted to.”

Flynn slid out of bed, careful not to jostle Lucy. “What happened?” he asked, his voice dangerous—but not at Wyatt.

He had seen, then, when Wyatt was outlined in the doorway from the hall light, which was always kept on.

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Flynn’s hand came up, gently cupping Wyatt’s face, his fingers carefully probing the black eye. “Who did this to you.”

“Garcia, really, I’m fine.” Wyatt took Flynn’s wrist in his hand, trying to soothe him.

“That’s not fine,” Flynn growled. “Was it Rittenhouse? Did they jump you?”

“No, no, it was…” they couldn’t have this conversation here, not if they didn’t want to wake up Lucy. “Let’s take this outside.”

They went into the bathroom. As Flynn flicked on the light Wyatt winced, knowing now that his face could be seen in its entirety.

He heard Flynn’s sharp inhale and glanced into the mirror. He could see his own battered face, and Flynn’s enraged one behind it.

“Tell me who did this,” Flynn growled. “So I can break their spine.”

Wyatt sighed and turned around so he didn’t have to look at the bruises on his face anymore. Except now he had to look Flynn in the face.

He looked down at the floor.

“I was out at a bar,” he said quietly. “I had to get out, you know…”

Flynn nodded. He and Lucy understood how Wyatt got stir crazy and had to slip out, just go out on the town for a bit.

“So I was out at this bar and I’m just drinking and watching the game, and then I hear… I hear these guys, right? And they’re talking about…”

Wyatt gripped the edge of the sink behind him, grounding himself.

“They’re talking about some other guys they know. Calling them…” Wyatt swallowed. It felt like his throat had closed up. “Fags and all this stuff, and it was—it was pretty clear that these guys, they weren’t there, right, so I don’t know for certain but… they weren’t hiding who they were. And I just…”

“You started a fight?”

Wyatt shook his head. “I didn’t. I just… I just sat there.”

Flynn gently took Wyatt chin in his hand, tilting Wyatt’s head upward so that Wyatt was forced to look him in the eye. “You know there’s nothing wrong with that. With staying quiet.”

Wyatt shook his head again. “No. No, it’s—staying silent, it’s—it’s as good as saying it’s okay.

“But I guess—I went to the bathroom, to clear my head a little, and a couple of them followed me—I think what I was thinking showed on my face. We got into it… and I told them where to shove it, and that’s how… all this happened.” He gestured at his face.

Flynn sighed, and it was moments like these where Wyatt forgot how ferocious Flynn could be, how cold and calculating he’d once thought him—these moments where Flynn looked at him with soft, dark eyes, like he’d take all of Wyatt’s pain away if he could.

“And I just.” Wyatt swallowed hard. “You know I love you, right? I know I’m—I’m a real shit at saying it. I’m much better with Lucy. But I do. I do, I—it’s just… hard.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Flynn said. He reached out carefully, gently, like he thought Wyatt might spook, taking Wyatt’s face in his hands. “I know, Wyatt. You don’t have to say it. I know.”

“But I should.” Wyatt coughed, trying to cover up the way his eyes stung, the way his throat was tight and dry. “I just sat there and—they started the fight, not me, I wouldn’t have said anything, I wouldn’t have done anything—”

Flynn kissed him, hard, bruising. “If I’m not allowed to go on about all the shit I’ve done, I’m not letting you beat yourself up over this. How many men were there? Four? Five? Not starting a fight—it’s called self-preservation. Two of them on you in a fight is bad enough, but I’m speaking for Lucy here too when I tell you I’m glad you didn’t start anything. You had no backup. No one to watch your six. They could’ve killed you if you’d started something.”

“I hate that I feel this way,” Wyatt admitted. “That I—it’s like this big sick ball in my stomach and I want to throw up and I can’t and I hate it because I don’t want to be ashamed. I love you and I love Lucy and I don’t want to be ashamed of that.”

Flynn’s eyes softened once more, and he pulled Wyatt in, wrapping his arms around him, kissing him until Wyatt instinctively leaned into him, clung to Flynn in return. “There aren’t any easy answers,” he murmured. “We’re all just doing the best we can. Sometimes our best isn’t all that great, but it’s our best, and that’s all we can ask of ourselves on that day.”

Wyatt let himself rest his head against Flynn’s shoulder, holding on tight.

“I’m just glad you’re safe,” Flynn admitted. “We were worried. And darling you know—you don’t ever have to shout it from the rooftops. Lucy and I know, and that’s all that matters. You don’t owe it to anyone else to tell them who you love or what you stand for. Especially in a situation like that where you could get hurt.”

Wyatt nodded. “I know, logically, I know all of this. But it doesn’t… it doesn’t stop me feeling like shit.”

“Only time can do that.” Flynn pulled back. “And sleep. C’mon, Lucy will be freezing all by herself.”

Sure enough when Flynn led him back to bed, Lucy reached out, her eyes blinking open sleepily. “Mmm, sweetheart,” she murmured, her hand finding Wyatt’s shirt and pulling him in. “You’re late.”

“Sorry honey,” Wyatt told her, letting her manhandle him until she could rest her head on his chest and lie with her arm draped over his waist.

“Everything okay?” Lucy asked, already sounding halfway asleep again.

“Everything’s fine,” Flynn assured her, sliding into bed on her other side.

Wyatt reached out until he found Flynn’s hand, grasping it tightly.

“You’re fine,” Flynn whispered to him. “Everything’s fine.”

Maybe Flynn was right and there was nothing to be ashamed of, but… he still held Flynn’s hand tighter than usual as he fell asleep.


	12. Kinks

Wyatt folded his arms. “Am I really that obvious?”

Lucy and Flynn looked at each other. Flynn nodded at Lucy for her to go. Lucy looked over at him. “In a word, yes.”

“Don’t worry,” Flynn assured him. “We like it.”

“But you don’t,” Wyatt said, looking at Lucy.

“I like praising you, and I like that you like it,” Lucy said. “But I don’t like it for myself, no. I don’t have a praise kink.”

“Do you really need to put it that way?”

“She’s just calling it like it is.”

Wyatt squirmed a little. He and Jess hadn’t ever really… talked… about this kind of thing. They’d just… done things. Sometimes Jess would tell him that she really liked something, or ask if they could try a position, but there wasn’t nearly as much discussion about kinks and positions and likes and hard limits.

But when you’re dating two people and one of you could easily end up with a twisted ankle just from moving the wrong way during sex, well… you started talking about things.

“I’ve noticed you like being in charge,” Flynn said, writing it all down on paper because that was how Flynn was and Wyatt was praying to God that nobody ever got their hands on said piece of paper.

Flynn was looking at Lucy as he said it.

Lucy shrugged. “I’d never really thought about it before but yes. I like it. You?”

“Could go either way,” Flynn acknowledged. “I like when you’re in charge, but I also like being in charge—especially over Wyatt.”

Lucy and Flynn both looked at him, identical hungry looks on their faces, and it was moments like these that Wyatt wished they didn’t share this bunker with three other people so he could stand up and plop himself in Flynn’s lap and kiss Lucy the way he wanted to.

He put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “You two are welcome to keep telling me what to do.”

“Yes, we’ve noticed,” Lucy said.

“You like it rough,” Wyatt said, pointing at Flynn.

“Yeeeeup,” Flynn said, shameless.

They both looked at Lucy. “You don’t have a praise kink but you have something,” Flynn mused.

Jiya walked in. “What are you guys talking about?”

Wyatt had an excuse ready to go but Garcia Flynn never passed up the opportunity to make someone uncomfortable so he said, “We’re negotiating kinks.”

“Oh, cool.” Jiya rifled through the freezer, probably for ice cream. “Lucy likes to be called a slut.”

“Jiya!” Lucy hissed.

Wyatt could feel his jaw dropping open.

“What?” Jiya shrugged. “What you tell me when you’re drunk doesn’t necessarily stay between us.”

“Humiliation kink?” Flynn asked.

“You keep your mouth shut,” Lucy instructed him. “Jiya, I’m getting you back for this.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Jiya grabbed a spoon out of the drawer. “Have fun! Remember safe words!”

She waltzed back out of the kitchen.

Both men looked at Lucy.

“Fine.” Lucy grabbed the paper and wrote down a few words. “But these words _only_ , understand?”

Flynn’s grin was priceless. Wyatt felt his chest loosen a little bit. So he wasn’t really the only one who was a little embarrassed by talking about all of this.

He could work with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jiya's a troll and no one can tell me otherwise.


	13. Movie Night

Lucy nudged at Wyatt with her foot. “How about this one?”

“C’mon, Luce, I’m not going to watch something that keeps me up half the night with jitters,” Wyatt replied, taking the remote and scrolling past the horror film.

“But I thought you liked it when I got scared,” Lucy said, crawling up into his lap and brushing her nose over his face.

“Not tonight,” Wyatt said firmly, taking her by the hips and depositing her to the side, where she sprawled into Flynn’s lap.

Lucy looked up at Flynn, smiling sweetly. “Garcia? Please?”

“You got to pick the movie last time,” Flynn pointed out.

“How about—”

“If you suggest a romantic comedy, Wyatt, I will kick you.”

Wyatt paused, the remote hovering over _You’ve Got Mail_. He looked at Flynn.

Flynn silently shook his head.

Wyatt huffed but moved on. “Oh, hey, what about _The Magnificent Seven_?”

“Original or remake?” Flynn asked.

“Original.”

Both men looked down at Lucy, smiling. Lucy sighed. “All right, all right.”

“Don’t even lie, _cher_ , you like Westerns too.”

“Not as much as you two,” Lucy countered.

Wyatt selected the film. “Pass the popcorn.”

Lucy settled herself in more fully, her legs draped over Wyatt’s lap and her head in Flynn’s. Flynn winked at Wyatt, who sighed and moved over, relaxing against Flynn’s side, Flynn’s arm around his shoulders.

“Okay. We got the popcorn?”

“Yup.”

“Soda?”

“Yes.”

“Junior Mints?”

“Yes.”

“Ice cream?”

“Yup.”

“Okay then.” Wyatt held up the remote and pressed _play_.


	14. Strictly Ballroom

As they emerged from the Lifeboat, Flynn grabbed Wyatt. “Care to explain what that was all about?”

“I just didn’t like the—stuffed shirts, the way everyone was so—judgmental…”

“Full of pride and prejudice?” Flynn teased gently.

Wyatt shrugged, obviously not seeing the joke.

Flynn sighed, guiding Wyatt down the steps of the Lifeboat. “This wasn’t just a dislike for Victorian society, Wyatt, it was something else—you know you made yourself stand out, not asking any of the women to dance.”

“If you’re suggesting I didn’t do my part to get the information—”

“I’m not saying that, and you know it,” Flynn said, keeping his voice gentle. Wyatt would get defensive when his pride was at stake and getting angry back at him only made things worse. “I just want to know what the matter is.”

Wyatt sighed, looking around, but nobody else was paying them any attention. “I don’t… I can’t waltz.”

“…you can’t…” Flynn paused. “But you swing dance, I’ve seen you, at the Savoy Ballroom with Lucy, you two were the stars of the night.”

“Yeah but that’s swing, not waltz, not that formal stuff, I could never get it right. And girls were always more impressed when I could do that move from _Dirty Dancing_ , so.” Wyatt shrugged. “But it was embarrassing. I’d have looked like an idiot out there.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Flynn teased. “I could teach you.”

“I don’t need—”

“Hey, everything okay?” Lucy asked, hurrying up. She held out her hand and Flynn obligingly dropped her wedding ring into her palm for her to slide on.

“Everything’s great, _cher_ , we were just discussing the dancing,” Flynn said.

“Oh, yes! I’ve always liked formal dancing,” Lucy admitted. “Any kind of dancing, really, we should find a salsa club too, I’ve always wanted to learn.”

Flynn gave Wyatt a _see what I mean_ look over Lucy’s head.

Wyatt sighed. “Fine,” he whispered, once Lucy was out of earshot. “But tonight, okay? When everyone else’ll be asleep."

 

* * *

 

Lucy wasn’t sure what woke her up. It was probably the cold. She got cold easily, especially when… she felt around the bed.

Especially when her husbands weren’t there to create a lovely pocket of warmth for her.

Lucy sat up. No Wyatt, and no Flynn. Not sitting up from nightmares or insomnia.

She stood up, grabbing her bathrobe and slippers and quietly slipping out into the hall.

No men in the bathroom, having a late-night shower or Wyatt throwing up in the toilet, as he did when his PTSD nightmares got to be really bad.

Then she heard it—music.

She crept quietly town the hall to the main room. There was a dim light, like someone had just lit the lamp by the couch.

When she paused in the doorway, she saw what was going on.

“See?” Flynn was saying quietly. “Just keep counting—hey, look at my face, not at your feet.”

“Easier said than done,” Wyatt grumbled.

The two men were dancing around the floor, slowly, and little awkwardly—although Lucy could quickly see that it wasn’t Flynn’s fault. Wyatt was moving hesitantly, too carefully, the way that someone does when they don’t know the steps.

Wyatt, she realized, didn’t know how to formal dance.

“You’re getting better,” Flynn praised gently.

Lucy slid down the wall until she was curled up on the floor. Wyatt would probably flee and lock himself in the bathroom if he saw that she was watching them. But here, in the shadow of the doorway, she could watch them unseen. She smiled helplessly as she watched Flynn patiently instruct Wyatt, moving them bit by bit across the floor.

“That’s it,” Flynn said.

“…this isn’t too bad,” Wyatt admitted. Lucy couldn’t see his face but she could tell by his tone of voice that he was blushing.

Flynn tipped his head forward until their foreheads were pressed together, pulling Wyatt from a formal hold into a close hold. Wyatt’s steps got a little better as he stopped focusing on his feet and started to focus on Flynn, on Flynn holding him, gently guiding him, on the way they were pressed together.

Lucy covered her mouth to stifle a giggle. Oh, her boys. Her two ridiculous boys.

All three of them were exhausted the next day, but—none of them complained.


	15. A Night In

It was a rare night when they were all just sitting around relaxing. They didn’t get a whole lot of those, and inevitably there was some alcohol involved. Not too much, of course—they’d all learned their lesson from the last time—but enough to get them all relaxed.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Jiya said, holding her hand up. “Favorite musical—and it can’t be _Hamilton_!”

Everyone around the table groaned.

“Okay, fine.” Lucy perked up from her spot in Flynn’s lap. “ _Guys and Dolls_.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Wyatt slurred, sitting on the floor in between Flynn’s legs. “ _Oklahoma!_ ”

“Poor Judd Frye is dead…” Flynn intoned, only slightly off key.

“Does a Broadway version of a Disney musical count?” Rufus asked. “Because if so _Hunchback of Notre Dame_.”

“ _The Sound of Music_ ,” Denise said.

Everyone stared at her.

“What? Did you think I was going to say _Rent_ or something?” she asked.

“ _Phantom of the Opera_ ,” Mason said.

“I’m shocked,” Flynn said in the least shocked voice ever heard by man.

“What’s your favorite then?” Mason shot back.

“ _Les Miserables_.”

“Oh my God of course it is,” Wyatt groaned. “Why are my dates so predictable?”

“ _Godspell_ ,” Jiya said to finish it off.

“You’re not even Christian,” Rufus said, confused.

“So?” Jiya shot back. “You’re not a hunchback.”

“Point taken.”

“Okay okay okay but which Broadway character would you fuck, marry, or kill?” Lucy asked.

“And this is the part where we take your wine away,” Flynn said, deftly taking Lucy’s glass out of her hand and passing it to Wyatt, who set it out of her reach.

Everyone decided this was the wisest decision of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to see them all being a bunker family together... *sobs*


	16. Dungeons and Dragons

“All right,” Mason said, gently straightening out the papers and notebooks around him. “Is everyone ready?”

Flynn shot Wyatt a dirty grin. Wyatt glared at him. Lucy continued flipping through her notes. Jiya, Denise, and Rufus nodded.

“Very well then.” Mason cleared his throat. “So. When we last left you, you had put up in the local inn, _The Candlewick_ , for the evening. Denise, Jiya, your characters had finally had their first date—”

“It only took them fifty sessions,” Wyatt mumbled under his breath.

“What, Wyatt, not a fan of the slow burn?” Flynn asked.

“Better than the wham bam thank you ma’am,” Wyatt shot back.

“Shhh,” Lucy said.

“You’d had your first date and were walking back through the moonlight. We’ll leave you there for a moment, if you two would like to text me anything you want to roleplay that you’d rather not do in front of anyone else,” Mason said.

Denise and Jiya began furiously texting.

Mason looked at the others. “What are you all doing?”

“I’d like to talk to the bartender,” Rufus said. “I think he knows more about these mysterious disappearances than he wants to admit.”

“Excellent.”

“I want to go into Wyatt’s room,” Flynn announced.

“Whoa! No fair!” Lucy yelped. “You can’t make a move on him while I’m indisposed!”

“You’re the one who made the mistake of getting yourself kidnapped.”

“That was not my fault. Mason. He can’t try to sleep with Wyatt when I’m not there to counterattack, it’s against the bet.”

“I love how I have no say in this matter,” Wyatt grumbled.

“Flynn,” Mason said, “how will you explain what you’re doing just sauntering into your compatriot’s bedroom?”

“There’s been a mix-up with the rooms,” Flynn said, using his character’s Spanish accent. “Someone else has mine. Mind if I share with you?”

“Roll a deception check,” Mason said.

“Sure you weren’t supposed to be a bard?” Wyatt asked Flynn as he rolled. “Then you could use seduction as an actual battle maneuver.”

“But I don’t want to seduce everyone,” Flynn replied. “Just you.”

Wyatt looked helplessly at Lucy, who just winked at him.

Jiya’s, Mason’s, and Denise’s phones all lit up with a text from Rufus:

_Why do I have the feeling this in-game seduction is going to end in a real-life seduction?_

Jiya replied first.

_Flynn and Lucy have to realize they need to team up if they’re going to succeed._

Mason’s was next.

_If your characters would like to place an in-game bet on this relationship, let me know._

“If Rittenhouse ever finds out we play D&D,” Wyatt said as Flynn finished tallying up his deception roll, “We’re so dead.”

“Oh hush and don’t let him seduce you until my character escapes her kidnappers,” Lucy replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can't tell me these nerds wouldn't be all over this shit.


	17. Birthday Gifts

Lucy woke up to someone pressing soft kisses along her neck.

She turned, only half awake, nuzzling up into them. She breathed in the person’s scent—Wyatt, he had a crisper, drier smell than Flynn, who smelled dark and sort of smoky.

She blinked open her eyes, winding her arms around his neck. “Hey, sweetheart.”

Wyatt smiled down at her. “Good morning.”

That was odd. Normally Wyatt was the last one to wake up and had to be all but prodded out of bed. Lucy looked over to her left. No Flynn, but that wasn’t unusual. He was almost always the first one up.

“What’s the occasion?” she asked, letting Wyatt brush his mouth over her throat.

“You don’t know what day it is?” Wyatt rumbled, sounding amused.

Lucy tried to think. With all the time hopping back and forth, dates were hazy. “Um, Tuesday?”

The door opened and Flynn came in, stopping when he saw them. His arms were full of…

Lucy sat up, nearly knocking Wyatt off the bed. “You didn’t.”

“Yup, we did,” Wyatt said, grinning.

Flynn’s left hand held a few small, beautifully wrapped boxes, and his right hand balanced a plate on which sat a small cake.

She had completely forgotten it was her birthday.

“The others have presents too, I’m sure,” Flynn said, walking over and setting everything down on the bed. “But we wanted to get started a little early. Everyone else is still asleep.”

The cake had chocolate icing, with words written on it in pink icing: _darling, cher, Lucy, Luce, Dr. Preston, babydoll, honey, ma’am_.

All the names they’d called her over the years.

Lucy didn’t know if she was going to laugh or cry, her heart feeling like it was swelling up inside of her chest.

Wyatt nudged her. “Open the presents, Luce.”

She was a little nervous about those. For Flynn’s birthday, Wyatt had gotten him a framed picture of Oscar the Grouch that said, “Just because you’re trash doesn’t mean you can’t do great things. It’s garbage can, not garbage cannot.” And Flynn had a habit of ordering sex toys—although that was partially to annoy Denise, whose team had to check all packages heading to the bunker.

 She selected the small box first, wrapped in the comics section of the newspaper. Inside was a mug that said, _though she be but little, she is fierce_.

“A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream,” she said, smiling up at Flynn.

He winked at her.

The second one was another box, this one done up in shining silver paper with a big bow. Inside were European chocolates—from that one store in Belgium that she’d tried in the 1940s, the one that she loved.

“It’s still in business,” Wyatt explained. “We asked Jess to pick them up and send them over.”

“I was about to say, you didn’t make an unauthorized time jump for me, did you?” Lucy teased.

The two men glanced at one another guiltily.

Lucy stared. “You didn’t.”

Flynn pushed the final present towards her.

Lucy unwrapped it carefully, her mind racing. It was a large, flat box, so she was guessing a painting…

She unwrapped the last bit of bubble wrap and stared. Looked up at Flynn. Looked at Wyatt. Back down at the painting. Kept staring.

“This is…”

“Yes.”

“But it’s been missing since…”

“1939, yup.”

Lucy stared down at Raphael’s _Portrait of a Young Man._ She’d mentioned her love of Raphael once, in a conversation with Jiya, when Flynn and Wyatt had been playing _Knights of the Old Republic_ in the background. She hadn’t thought they’d even heard her.

“This was hanging in Hitler’s art collection,” she noted. “At Linz.”

“Oh, yes, tell me, what does history say about that?” Flynn asked.

Lucy looked up at him. “Um… that all the stolen Nazi art was discovered, most notably the Amber Room, with _Portrait of a Young Man_ being inexplicably…” she paused.

Wyatt, at least, had the sense to look sheepish. Flynn looked smug.

“You assholes, you told them where all the Nazi art was and then swanned off with this!”

“History already said it was missing!” Flynn countered. “We just figured we’d make sure it was missing in our favor!”

“I made him tell the Allies where all the other art was,” Wyatt noted.

Flynn pointed. “He did do that.”

“ _You stole me a Raphael painting_.”

“It was Wyatt’s idea.”

Wyatt looked betrayed.

Lucy looked down at the painting. It was beautiful. A confident young man, at the prime of his life and the height of his talent, ready to take on the world. The gentle layered brushstrokes, the distinctive soft texture and curving lines of Raphael’s work. Only in his twenties and already a master.

“We could take it back, if you really wanted,” Flynn pointed out.

Lucy bit her lip. She was going to be in so much trouble for this, but… well, her family lineage was German, right? She could claim it was a family heirloom she’d just… discovered, or something…

“No, no we can keep it.”

Both Wyatt and Flynn visibly relaxed. “Good, because I really didn’t want to have to deal with that asshole American general again.”

“So wait, just how much art was lost in the original timeline?”

“A shit ton,” Wyatt said, when Flynn opened his mouth to, probably, start rattling off a very long list.

Lucy couldn’t help herself. She started laughing. “You guys went back in time and _stole me a painting_.”

“Only the best for you,” Flynn said softly.

She leaned over carefully, so she wouldn’t dislodge the cake or the painting, and kissed him. “I love it.”

She pulled Wyatt in too, kissed him. “Thank you.”

“Happy birthday, Lucy,” Wyatt replied.

Flynn pushed the cake towards her. “Make a wish.”

Lucy smiled, thought for a moment, took a deep breath…

And blew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I the only one who would use a time machine to hunt down all the stolen art and return it? No? Just me?


	18. Massage Therapy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *swoons over Flynn being taller than the refrigerator*

Flynn didn’t generally mind being tall. Being six foot four had some distinct advantages, like being taller and stronger than everyone he was trying to beat up.

When it came to living in this damn bunker, however…

He was taller even than the fridge, for fuck’s sake. He had to stoop everywhere. He had to hunch over on the couch. And, well, it took a toll.

“Lucy?” he asked, peering over his shoulder.

Next to him, technically reading up on Rittenhouse but really just dozing, Wyatt huffed in amusement.

Lucy smiled, setting down her bag. “Really aching tonight, huh handsome?”

Flynn stretched out on the bed more. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Lucy took off her shoes and swung her leg up so that she was straddling his back. “I don’t mind.”

The ache just built up in his neck and shoulders day after day, constantly stooping and crouching and inclining his neck down—even when he was kissing Wyatt and Lucy, which annoyed him to no end. Kissing his boyfriend and girlfriend should not give him a neckache, dammit (although it did lead to them often in his lap, which he wasn’t complaining about).

Some people thought massages were sexy—and they could be—but not when the massage involved the person seriously digging into your knots. Then it was just pain.

Flynn made an involuntary noise of discomfort as Lucy began to work at the knots in his back. “You’re conveniently shirtless for this,” she noted.

“My fault,” Wyatt said cheerfully, setting aside all pretense at doing paperwork.

“He claimed that making out would motivate him to actually read the damn files,” Flynn grumbled, grunting as Lucy dug into another knot.

“You need a professional, Garcia, Jesus Christ,” Lucy noted.

“I don’t think Denise is gonna spring for a massage therapist—ow!”

“Sorry!”

Wyatt flipped so that he was on his stomach, same as Flynn, scooting so that he could rest his head on his folded arms and face Flynn. “Hey.”

Flynn smiled at him. “Hey, darling.”

He reached over, putting his hand over Wyatt’s. Wyatt could still be bad about initiating things but oh, the smile on his face and his ready acceptance of Flynn’s initiation more than made up for it if you asked Flynn.

After the first initial knot-working, Lucy’s movements became less painful. Flynn could feel himself slowly starting to unwind the muscles in his back and neck. He drifted, not awake but not asleep, just slowly relaxing, his fingers intertwined with Wyatt’s, and Lucy’s hands working over his back.

He didn’t know how long it was, but after a time, Lucy’s movements became slower, softer. She finally sank down, collapsing onto his back, her head resting between his shoulder blades.

“All better?” she murmured.

“Yeah.”

“Mmm, good.”

She didn’t weigh a whole lot, so he didn’t ask her to move. Just let himself drift. Denise would be yelling at them all to come eat a decent meal and debrief soon, and Rufus and Jiya would be dorky and cute, and Mason would be dramatic and annoying and oddly endearing, and Denise would be done with them all, and it would be messy and fantastic and noisy.

But right now, there was the warm weight of Lucy on his back, and Wyatt’s hand in his, their breathing slow and deep and even. It was just the three of them, safe, warm, together.

He wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world.


	19. Never Have I Ever

They didn’t often get a chance to unwind, all of them at the same time. If one or a few of them got the night off, you could bet that the others were still working around the clock.

But once in a while, the stars aligned and they could kick back and relax. Given how rare it was, it was probably kind of inevitable that they’d break out the booze and go a little overboard.

Denise was with them, because she admitted—once she had a couple beers in her—that they were like a second family to her, and anyway she’d never been the social butterfly.

“Michelle wants to send you all a gift basket,” she admitted. “You’ve forced me to socialize and actually make friends.”

“When your wife despairs of you making friends, that’s when I’d start to get concerned,” Mason replied.

“Says the man who has no wife,” Denise shot back.

Understandably, given the people involved, there was rather a lot of snark involved. And when they all had a few drinks in them and Jiya suggested they play the ever-popular game ‘Never Have I Ever’… well, things got a little pointed.

“Never have I ever…” Wyatt thought for a moment. “Given a blowjob in a jacuzzi.”

Lucy glared at him while taking her drink. “Yeah, well never have I ever choked on a dick, either.”

Wyatt drank reluctantly, as did Jiya. “What, I was fourteen, give a girl a break,” she said when Rufus looked at her.

“Wyatt was thirty-four,” Flynn muttered, just loud enough for Wyatt to hear and kick him in the shins under the table.

“Never have I ever accidentally sent an email to a college admissions department regarding their masters program with my personal email signature,” Mason drawled.

“Never have I ever gotten caught by the paparazzi sneaking out of an actress’s house,” Rufus replied after he took his drink.

Mason just grinned as he downed his shot, looking not in the least bit sorry. “The email signature, by the way, was Darth Nerdus.”

“Never have I ever slept with a man,” Denise said.

Flynn, Wyatt, Jiya, and Lucy all groaned, drinking.

“Never have I ever been in a threesome,” Rufus said, smirking evilly.

Lucy flipped him off as she, Wyatt, and Flynn drank. To everyone’s surprise, Jiya drank. To nobody’s surprise, Mason drank.

“Never have I ever been with a woman,” Jiya said.

Every single person drank. “That’s just not fair,” Mason protested.

“Never have I ever slept with a historical figure,” Wyatt said.

Everyone stared as Lucy drank. She paused, looking around. “…am I the only one?”

“Apparently so,” Flynn said, grinning widely.

“I’m married,” Denise said. “And never time traveled.”

“Never had the pleasurable opportunity,” Mason added.

“In love with Jiya,” Rufus admitted, which earned him a kiss on the cheek from her.

“In love with and already dating Rufus,” Jiya said, turning her cheek so that Rufus could kiss her in return.

“So who was it?” Mason asked.

Wyatt grinned down at his hands while Flynn also looked curious. “Did I never tell you?” Lucy asked.

“Nope.”

She sighed. “Josephine Baker.”

“What?” Rufus shrieked. “You slept with—what!?”

“Oh my God,” Mason said, grinning.

“Who?” Jiya asked.

Flynn just held his hand up for Lucy to high five. “That’s my girl.”

“Only you,” Wyatt grumbled, “Would high five our girlfriend for sleeping with another woman.”

“Before she was dating either of us,” Flynn pointed out. “And Josephine Baker. I might give Lucy a free pass even if we were already dating.”

“Wyatt’s just mad he didn’t seize his opportunity with Ian Fleming,” Lucy said, casually taking a sip.

“Hey!” Wyatt spluttered. “You were the one making big doe eyes at him.”

“No, sweetheart, that was you.”

Flynn, who was sitting in between them, seemed to suddenly realize he was sitting in the middle of what was about to be a war zone. “Never have I ever slept with a professor.”

Jiya took a drink. “How the hell did you know that?”

“I didn’t, I was thinking Lucy or Rufus might have.”

“Hey!” both parties mentioned said in protest.

“Never have I ever been married,” Jiya added.

Everyone except Rufus drank.

“You were married?” Wyatt demanded of Mason.

“Three times,” Rufus muttered.

Mason waved his hand. “The passions of youth and all of that.”

“The passions of prenuptial agreements, more like.”

“Never have I ever had a sex dream about a Twi’lek,” Mason shot back.

“That’s just rude,” Rufus said, even as he drank. “Never have I ever had sex in the Mothership.”

Flynn choked. “You had—Mason _I flew in that ship_.”

“You were being a dick and stole it, I don’t think you get to complain,” Wyatt noted.

“Never have I ever been pegged,” Flynn shot back.

“Never have I ever semi-flirted with my own mom to gain access to her apartment,” Wyatt replied.

“Never have I ever—”

“Used a vibrator,” Rufus said quickly, since Lucy was just watching this exchange with amusement and didn’t seem fully sober enough to realize how dangerous an escalation like this was for everyone else’s sanity.

Jiya, Denise, Wyatt, and Lucy all drank. Flynn paused. “Does it count if you use it on other people?”

“No,” Mason said.

“You’re just saying that so you don’t have to drink,” Rufus replied.

“Fine, never have I ever looked up penis enhancement,” Mason drawled.

Jiya did a literal spit take. “But you’re fine!” she protested, wiping her mouth.

“Ah, thank you, that goes on the list of things I need to forget about tonight,” Flynn observed.

“It’s all in how you use it,” Wyatt added cheekily.

“Never have I ever blown my load too early,” Rufus replied, utterly deadpan.

“Never have I ever gotten my friends a cake that said Congratulations on Finally Fucking Each Other,” Wyatt said, using his beer bottle to point at Rufus.

“Never have I ever had kids,” Mason said.

Flynn and Denise drank, although Flynn didn’t look too happy about it.

“Never have I ever worn a strap on?” Jiya suggested, obviously seeing the dangerous look Flynn was shooting Mason.

Lucy and Denise drank. Rufus put two and two together and groaned. “Wyatt, you’re my best friend, but I now know way too much about you.”

“Feeling’s mutual. Never have I ever sent a dick pic to the wrong person.”

Rufus drank, rolling his eyes.

“Never have I ever sent a dick pic to the right person and gotten criticized on the lighting and filter I used,” Flynn said, looking at Lucy.

“I’m just saying if you’re going to do it, be artistic about it!” Lucy protested.

“Never have I ever used restraints,” Denise said.

“What, never?” Flynn asked as everyone else drank. Lucy nudged him and he drank quickly, then went back to staring at Denise.

“Not everyone has a bondage kink, Flynn, despite what _50 Shades of Grey_ would have us all think.”

“Never have I ever read or seen _50 Shades of Grey_ ,” Lucy said, disgust lacing her tone.

Mason and Jiya drank.

“What?” Mason asked, frowning. “I was curious. And tipsy.”

“Never have I ever worn a sex toy on a mission,” Rufus said, evil glinting in his eyes as he looked at Wyatt.

“Never have I ever written a hundred drafts of my pro—” Wyatt began, but Flynn stomped on his foot before he could finish. “Ow!”

“Never have I ever been shit at keeping secrets,” Flynn drawled.

“Never have I ever been a victim of spousal abuse,” Wyatt replied. It was clearly a joke aimed at Flynn, but thankfully nobody else drank either.

“Oh no, your poor foot,” Flynn said.

“Never have I ever used food in the bedroom,” Rufus said.

“You are all puritans,” Mason declared, drinking.

“Do not,” Flynn said, dead serious, “complain about the puritans until you’ve actually had to deal with the fuckers.”

“What is so vanilla about not wanting chocolate stains all over your bedsheets?” Rufus protested.

Lucy gestured at him with her glass. “Yes, what—what he said.”

“Ah, the beginnings of incoherence,” Flynn noted. “How many glasses is that, darling?”

Lucy held her glass protectively to her chest, glaring at Flynn.

“Never have I ever spilled the beans about my relationship because I hadn’t had my coffee fix,” Denise said.

Wyatt flipped her off.

“Never have I ever kissed three of my teammates to avoid revealing my relationship with a teammate,” Jiya added.

“Hey, what is this, gang up on Wyatt day?”

“It’s always gang up on Wyatt day,” Flynn said with a leer.

“We have brain bleach around here, right?” Rufus inquired. “Asking for a friend.”

“Never have I ever done it with my significant other back in time,” Lucy said.

Rufus and Jiya drank.

“Wait,” Wyatt asked, “What era?”

“When we went back to save Denise.”

“My life was in danger and you two found time for sex?” Denise protested, sounding torn between being appalled and being impressed.

“Never have I ever done it in someone else’s bed,” Mason said.

Lucy, Flynn, and Wyatt drank.

Rufus and Jiya turned betrayed eyes to them. All three paused.

“It was… uh… a long time ago?” Lucy tried. “And we cleaned up after?”

“Lucy,” Rufus said dangerously. “You are my favorite and so you can stay. Wyatt. Flynn. Start running.”

Both men were up and out of their chairs and down the hall in the blink of an eye. Rufus got up a moment later, giving chase.

“…I think the game’s over,” Jiya said.

“Ah, but the bets on who wins this fight have just begun,” Mason said, holding his hands back behind his head and grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“You know, when Michelle asks me what I do on these nights,” Denise mused to Lucy, “I just tell her we played a board game.”

Lucy nodded. “Wise.”

Jiya smiled to herself. A hundred drafts, huh? That was going to be a hell of a speech.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to go in Like a Dumpster on Fire but given there's no smut, just lots of sexual references, I figured it fit the T rating and put it here instead.


	20. Ghosts

_“Go, go, go!”_

_“We’ve got them coming in from the north!”_

_“That’s an order, Logan, you get that dispatch to the Major!”_

_“I’ve been hit!”_

_“Gunner—Gunner you gotta get up, Gunner…”_

Wyatt jolted awake, his heart hammering. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

He could feel the blood on his hands—Tommy’s blood. They’d called him Gunner, like tommy guns. He’d died—Wyatt pressed his hands to the wound, tried to staunch it—

His stomach heaved and he sat up. Fuck, fuck, desert sand in the back of his throat, coating it, blood on his hands—

“Sweetheart?”

Lucy was sitting up, running her hands over his arms and shoulders. “Hey, Wyatt, sweetheart, it’s me.”

He grabbed her hand, pressed it to his skin. Lucy, Lucy, Luce, the angel on his shoulder.

She kissed his cheek. “You okay? You need water or anything?”

He shook his head. He needed… he didn’t know what he needed.

On Lucy’s other side, he felt Flynn stirring, sitting up as well. “Everything okay?” he asked, his voice sleep-rough.

“Nightmare,” Lucy said, speaking up when Wyatt didn’t, couldn’t.

His heart was still going too fast. He didn’t think he’d be able to get back to sleep tonight. “I’m just going to…” watch TV, or something.

He pulled away, but Flynn was climbing out of bed as well. “Go back to sleep, darling,” he murmured to Lucy.

Lucy reached out, grabbing Wyatt, pulling him back so she could press a kiss to his mouth. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Even if he didn’t deserve her love, he wanted it—and God help him, but he loved her back.

Flynn didn’t say anything, just followed Wyatt out of the room and down the hall to where Wyatt flicked on the television.

He didn’t offer Wyatt a beer—knew that times like this it reminded him of his father, of the dangerous spiral—and just sat down next to him, stretching his arm over the back of the couch.

Wyatt knew that he shouldn’t—that he didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve the love of either Lucy or Flynn—but he couldn’t help himself. He settled into Flynn’s side, let Flynn wrap his arm around Wyatt’s shoulders, let his head fall to Flynn’s shoulder.

“Lost another man,” Wyatt said, by way of an explanation. “Gunner.”

There was silence for a moment, then Flynn spoke. “I could never decide which was harder: when they bled out in your arms, or when they died too quick for you to say goodbye.”

 Wyatt nodded.

“You were just following orders,” Flynn pointed out, gently, like he knew it would set Wyatt off—and sometimes it did, sometimes it turned into an ugly argument. But not now. Wyatt was too tired.

“That’s no excuse. You don’t get to play the ‘I’m worse than you are’ game.”

Flynn gave a humorless chuckle. “Until you’ve killed in cold blood, Wyatt, I think I can play that game all I want.”

Wyatt couldn’t help it. He went stiff.

He still hadn’t told… anyone, about what had happened when he and Rufus had gone back in time, stolen the machine.

“What if I did,” he whispered.

“What if you did, what?” Flynn replied.

“What if I killed someone, someone who didn’t deserve it, and I didn’t mean to, but… I did, I went into his room and I attacked him and I killed him in cold blood.”

Flynn seemed to think for a moment. “Then I’d need the full story.”

Wyatt told him. Haltingly, having to take a moment’s pause before he could get to the next part. It took… who knew how long, hours maybe, but he got it all out. He couldn't look Flynn in the eye while he did it, just stared at the silent television screen, the figures moving around on it, not really seeing them but seeing something else. Somewhere else. A bartender, eyes open and unseeing. A woman screaming.

His fault. His sin.

“Rufus hasn’t ever told anyone,” he added. “He’s… he’s a good friend. He should’ve told someone. But he hasn’t.”

“He kept a promise, that’s a rare thing in today’s world,” Flynn replied.

They sat there in silence for another few minutes.

“Don’t tell Lucy,” Wyatt said finally.

“She’ll have to know at some point.”

“I know, just…”

He both hated and loved how Lucy was untouched by war, real war. Flynn had been a revolutionary. He’d seen how governments used and abused their people. He was the one putting bombs on the train lines, the one smuggling guns in, the one running into the fight with whatever weapons they could steal and no real plan, no armor, no massive home base to fall back to.

Wyatt had been a soldier, dropped in, shot and bombed and rumbled in his tanks, yes sir, for the good of the country, for freedom, even if by the end of it he didn’t know what freedom looked like anymore and he certainly didn’t know if any side could really call themselves ‘good’. He’d done what he had to do and called it justifiable, told himself, God help me, I was only following orders.

Lucy hadn’t done any of that. Wyatt already hated how much she’d had to be exposed to in fighting Rittenhouse. It was a relief that when he and Flynn shared a look, one of _those_ looks, Lucy didn’t see it. She didn’t know.

At the same time, it made a disconnect. Made him feel like there was a gulf between them that neither could reach across. She could comfort, but not emphathize. There was so much already that he could sense she didn’t get. If she knew what else he’d done…

“…not yet,” he finished.

Flynn turned his head, pressing his lips to the top of Wyatt’s head and tightening his hold briefly on Wyatt’s shoulders. “Okay, darling, whatever you say.”

He only ever said it in English when nobody else was around, knowing that Wyatt was more comfortable with the thin veneer of German or some other language so that he could pretend that nobody knew it was a pet name. But now, in the cover of night and solitude, there was no need for pretense and he could just let the love wash over him, even if he didn’t think he had quite earned it.

“We’ve all done things we’re not proud of,” Flynn added. “I knew what I was going to become when I started chasing Rittenhouse. But that didn’t make it any easier to do. Doesn’t make it any easier to live with. Doesn’t mean that either of us is unworthy of second chances, or love, or companionship.”

“How do you look at yourself?” Wyatt asked. “How do you look at yourself in the mirror and not… I don’t know.”

“One day at a time,” Flynn told him. “I take it one day at a time, darling. And hope that the things I'm doing now make up for the things I did then.”

They sat there like that for the rest of the night. Neither of them said anything more, but it was enough for Wyatt that someone else was there who knew. Knew what it was like to lose a man like that, a friend, to taste the bile in the back of your throat. Telling Flynn about what he’d done felt… not like he was excused, not like he was relieved, but like a bit of the weight he carried with him was transferred over, the burden shared. He wasn’t alone in it anymore.

Wyatt didn’t think he’d fall asleep again, but he woke up with a start, his face pressed to Flynn’s neck, when he felt another person snuggling into him.

“Shhh.” Lucy, her voice soft in his ear. “I missed you two.”

Half asleep still, Wyatt managed to shift and lift his arm, letting her slide in, sitting on his lap, her legs draped over Flynn, her head nestling into Wyatt’s chest.

Lucy was warm, her hair sweet-smelling. And Flynn’s arm was still around him, keeping him safe.

Wyatt held onto them both, and he slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn I'm just in an angst mood I don't even know.


	21. Snapshots

Rufus found them in the morning. They were on the couch. Flynn was sitting up, his arm around Wyatt’s shoulders, Wyatt drawn into his side with his face buried in Flynn’s neck. Lucy was curled up into the kind of curved pocket the men’s bodies had created, her legs draped over Flynn’s lap, her head on Wyatt’s chest.

He immediately went and got his camera.

Rufus hadn’t told them about this. He’d started doing it just for himself. Some pictures of Jiya while she slept, her dark hair fanning out over the pillow. A picture of his little brother at his basketball game, beaming. Little reminders in case he came back and things were different.

He put them in an album, taped to the underside of the pilot’s chair on the Lifeboat. He didn’t think anyone else knew about it. He certainly hadn’t told anyone.

Somewhere along the way, though, he’d started taking pictures for the others as well.

There was the time where he’d caught Wyatt standing at the kitchen counter with coffee, leaning into Flynn, nuzzling into Flynn’s neck and being, for once, openly affectionate—probably because he hadn’t realized Rufus was there.

There was the one of Wyatt on the couch, Lucy’s head in his lap, the two of them smiling softly at each other like two young people in love, without cares, without concerns.

Then there was the moment when Lucy’d had a brilliant idea, figured out what Rittenhouse was planning, and Flynn picked her up and spun her around, grin stretched wide over his face. The picture was the moment of their foreheads touching, beaming at each other, Lucy with her arms wrapped around Flynn’s neck and her legs around his waist, hoisted up in his arms.

There were movie nights, dinnertimes, cuddle sessions—a thousand little moments that Rufus had done his best to preserve for them.

Now there was this one, too. He didn’t know why they’d all ended up on the couch in the middle of the night, piled up on top of each other like puppies, but that didn’t matter.

What mattered was preserving it.

Rufus snapped the photo, grinning down at the results.

Lucy stirred, blinking up at him. “Wha…”

“Go to sleep,” Rufus told her quickly.

Lucy nodded, curling back into her boys, making a happy little humming noise as she picked up Wyatt’s arm and draped it around her waist like a blanket.

Rufus snapped one more picture.

Just in case.


	22. Wishes

Sometimes, they played a little game.

The game could start at any time, but it was usually while they were just lying together the three of them, in bed, or cuddling on the couch, or quietly eating dinner. The game only ended when they wanted it to end. It didn’t really have any set rules. It just… was.

The game started like this:

“You know what I want?” Lucy asked.

Wyatt was pressed up against her back, one arm draped heavily over her waist while the other was stretched out in front of him, simultaneously Lucy’s pillow and Flynn’s hand hold. Flynn was facing them, his face and Lucy’s only a few inches apart, the hand that wasn’t tangled with Wyatt’s gently petting through her hair and tracing the lines of her face. Their legs were all tangled together with the sheets. It was dark, warm, quiet.

“What do you want?” Flynn asked. Their voices were hushed.

“A soft mattress,” Lucy said. “When we get out of here we’re checking into a hotel and I’m going to sink into the softest thickest mattress and let it swallow me up.”

“Beach,” Wyatt murmured.

The other two jumped. They’d thought he was asleep. “What?” Lucy asked.

“The beach,” Wyatt repeated. “When we get out of here, I want to go to the beach. Stay there all day. Play volleyball, and go swimming, and build a sand castle, and tan.”

“I want gelato,” Flynn said. “We could fly out to Italy and do it properly, get real gelato. Chocolate and pistachio.”

“I want to paint the walls,” Lucy said. “Baby blue. And green. And butter yellow.”

“I want us to go to the Formula One cup,” Wyatt said. “And neither of you is allowed to complain.”

“I want to have sex in a jacuzzi,” Lucy said. “Maybe up in one of those mountain cabins. Where it’s out on the deck and you can see the stars.”

“I want to take you two to Europe,” Flynn said. “Travel nice and slow, sleep in every morning, take photos. Only leave a place when we’re ready.”

“I want to take you guys to the Metropolitan Museum of Art,” Lucy said. “Just wander through the galleries. And the Louvre.”

“I want to have a picnic,” Wyatt said. “I’m talking an all-day thing where we find a patch of grass by a river that nobody else has touched in years.”

“I want to pick out furniture,” Flynn said, very quietly.

“I want to hang photos on the walls,” Lucy replied, also very quietly.

“I want a big enough backyard for a dog,” Wyatt said, his voice barely a whisper. “Maybe two dogs. Big ones. Like labs.”

They all fell silent. This was generally where the game ended. It got too hard to speak. They whispered through the whole thing, as if saying their wishes out loud would be to tempt fate and cause the universe to ensure they never came true. But when their voices started to fail them, when the weight of what they wanted started to choke them… that was when the game would stop.

But that night, Lucy added,

“I want two.”

The tone of her voice suggested that she was not talking about dogs.

Flynn moved forward, tucking her head underneath his chin so that she could bury her face in his chest. It pushed his forehead up against Wyatt’s, turning the three of them almost into one being. Lucy was quiet but both men could feel her shake, and Flynn could feel his shirt getting wet.

Wyatt opened his eyes, his blue eyes meeting Flynn’s dark ones. “A dog for each, then?” he whispered, the words practically mouthed instead of voiced.

Flynn swallowed a few times. “Two sounds good,” he said at last.

They never gave the game an official title, but it was called in their heads, with some slight variations in wording,

_When We Get Out of This Bunker…_


	23. Battle Couple

Flynn dodged the blow coming at him and headbutted the guy in the face, then delivered a roundhouse that sent the man stumbling into Wyatt. Wyatt kicked the man in the stomach, sending him flying, then he and Flynn ducked together as a chair was thrown at them. They turned, getting back to back, Flynn pulling out his gun and Wyatt grabbing one of the men by the wrist, twisting it and spinning the guy until his back was to Wyatt’s chest and Wyatt could put him in a headlock.

Over to the side, Rufus stood staring, a little concerned, as Lucy just sat there, a dopey smile on her face.

“Are we just going to sit here?”

“Hmm?” Lucy looked up at him. “Oh. Yes.”

“…we aren’t going to help them?”

Lucy had gone back to staring at the two men. Wyatt had just sent a guy flying over his head so that Flynn could spin-kick the guy in the temple, and now the two were shooting in tandem.

Rufus was definitely not imagining the little happy sigh that Lucy gave watching them. “This… is very attractive to you isn’t it?”

“Do you think I could persuade them to take their shirts off?” Lucy mused.

“You do realize we’re in a literal fight for our lives, right?”

“So that’s a no.”

Rufus almost banged his head against the wall. He was forbidden from joining in fights after their trip to 1919 when he summarily got his ass kicked by a policeman. But Lucy actually did pretty well in fights provided there was enough furniture around for her to pick up and smash people with. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping?”

Lucy shook her head, her eyes still on her boyfriends. She made a distinctly turned on sound as Flynn ducked under Wyatt’s arm in perfect timing for Wyatt to punch a guy in the throat, turning as he crouched down to fire a round into the guy who was trying to stab Wyatt in the back.

“You disturb me,” Rufus told her. “I hope you know that.”

Flynn and Wyatt simultaneously punched a guy in the face.

“I’m going to marry the fuck out of them,” Lucy replied.

Rufus threw his hands in the air. “Whatever floats your boat, Lucy.”

Lucy just hummed happily and continued watching her boyfriends use teamwork to beat the ever-loving snot out of Rittenhouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this little bit of fluff and humor makes up for the angst I was just dumping on everyone.


	24. View from the Outside

Anna was on desk duty for the next hour until she did the rounds. Far from her favorite job. Everyone coming in frantic, yelling, and blaming her for it just because she was the one in front of their faces, even if she generally didn’t have anything to do with the reason why they were yelling.

It was understandable when people were coming in fearing for the lives of the ones they loved. Fear and a lack of understanding made people freak out and get aggressive.

Understandable, but still a pain in the ass to deal with.

The dirty blond sitting over in the chair was a perfectly good example. He’d been storming up and down the halls for God knew how long before finally collapsing into one of the plastic chairs. He looked like he hadn’t slept in hours, his blue eyes bloodshot, his five o’clock shadow turning into proper scruff, his clothes wrinkled.

Judging by the ring on his finger, and the person he’d been inquiring after—“Lucy, Lucy Preston, she should be there on your registry, it was just a couple hours ago, Jesus”—she was going to guess he was the husband.

Now the poor guy was sitting hunched over, elbows propped on his knees his face in his hands. Anna felt sorry for him, despite her annoyance with all the yelling he’d been doing. She wasn’t sure what was going on, but she had to guess it wasn’t something like pregnancy by the way this guy was acting.

Another man strode in, tall—wow, very tall—with dark hair and a certain manner to his stride that made Anna wonder if he was going to pull out a gun and hold the place up for ransom. There was something about him that screamed _dangerous_ , the kind of guy that in high school her mom had told her to stay away from.

The man stood there for a moment, looking around, and then spotted the guy in the chair. He made a beeline for him.

The man in the chair heard the approaching footsteps and looked up. The relief on his face made Anna’s breath catch a little.

“Thank God,” the first guy said. He was shorter than the new guy by a good five inches and was quickly enveloped in a hug.

The taller guy pressed his lips to the top of his companion’s head, and Anna caught a glimpse of a wedding ring on his left hand as well. Okay, so maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe the woman was a sister or something.

“How is she?” the taller man asked, pulling away. He sounded devastated. Maybe he was this Lucy Preston's husband after all? The man's accent wasn't American, European or something Anna thought, so maybe the whole touching thing was just the result of coming from a culture where platonic touching and kisses were more accepted.

The first guy shook his head. “They had her in surgery last I checked.”

“What the hell happened?” The tall guy sounded like he was looking for someone to kill. Definitely this woman's husband.

“Car accident.” The first guy laughed, bitterly. “It wasn’t even Rittenhouse, this damn deer ran into the road, apparently. That’s what EMTs said, anyway. Killed the deer, by the way. She’ll be upset about that.”

The second guy gave a fond snort. “She will be.” He paused, examining his companion’s face. “How are you holding up?”

The guy shrugged. “You know.”

“Wyatt.” The word was soft, packed with so much affection that Anna felt like she was intruding.

The guy, Wyatt, made a soft, thick sound and shook his head. “They won’t fucking tell me anything. They don’t know anything. Still in surgery, that’s all anybody will say. And you were on the mission and so were the others and Denise can’t leave because somebody’s got to hold down the fort and Jess is asleep in her time zone and…”

“Hey, hey, hey.” The taller guy wrapped his arms around Wyatt again. “She’s a trooper, you know that. She’s survived worse. She’ll be okay.”

Anna felt like she should look away. The way the two men were holding each other wasn’t inappropriate but there was something so intimate about it she felt like she was spying on two people making out. They had to be married to each other, then.

Wyatt pulled away, but not far, his eyes downcast. “Garcia I… if she doesn’t make it…”

“I know. I know, I feel the same way. But she will,” the other man, Garcia apparently, replied. “I’ll go talk to the front desk, see what I can find out.” He paused. “And we’re getting you some food, when the hell was the last time you ate?”

“Yes, Mom,” Wyatt replied, rolling his eyes.

Confirming her suspicions, Garcia kissed Wyatt softly, briefly, in that familiar way that longstanding couples do. He murmured something that she couldn’t hear, and then he was walking over and she had to pretend that she hadn’t been eavesdropping.

“Hello,” he said affably. He was damn handsome up close and Anna silently congratulated Wyatt. Hot _damn_. “I was hoping you could let me know where they’ve put a Lucy Preston? She would have been admitted a couple of hours ago.”

Anna pulled up the information on the computer, praying that the surgery was finished and she had good news for him. She held in her sigh of relief when she saw the update. “Looks like she got out of surgery ten minutes ago. She’ll be recovering in room…”

“Wyatt!” Garcia yelled.

Wyatt was up and across the room to join them before Anna could even blink. “Is she okay? Where is she? Do you know how she is?”

“All I know is her room, sir,” Anna said, trying to be gentle while staying firm. “Are either of you family?”

The two men gave each other deer in the headlights looks.

Anna sighed. “I can only admit family, such as siblings, spouses, or children.”

The men seemed to be having some kind of silent exchange with one another. Garcia raised his eyebrows at Wyatt, tilting his head in Anna’s direction. Wyatt gave a minute shake of his head, glaring back.

“…everything okay?” Anna asked.

Normally, if someone wasn’t related, this was the part where they said something about being best friends with the person and that they should be admitted to see the patient anyway. Anna could sympathize. Friends felt like family, a lot of the time. But if these two men were just friends with this woman, even close friends, that didn’t explain the weird silent argument that seemed to be going on. But they were clearly married to each other, weren’t they? The rings and the touches, the looks…

Finally Wyatt sighed, shooting a last glare at Garcia, and turned to face Anna again. “I’m her husband. Wyatt Logan.”

Anna could have pointed out that the five minute exchange of eyebrow raising and glaring she’d just witnessed didn’t exactly support that statement, but the way Wyatt declared himself had a strong ring of truth to it. You got good at knowing when people were lying, working in a hospital, and this man was telling her the truth. The note of possession, the way his voice cracked... that couldn't be a lie.

So… what was up with him and Garcia, then?

“You can come with me, then, sir,” she said, standing up to escort him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what about him?” Wyatt asked, indicating Garcia.

“It’s family only,” Anna repeated, although she did feel shit about it. Garcia looked devastated, although when Wyatt turned around to look the man was completely composed.

“But he’s…” the words died in Wyatt’s mouth.

“He’s?” Anna prompted.

Dear God, if Garcia was this Lucy’s sibling and Wyatt was cheating on her with him or something she was going to punch the guy.

She saw Wyatt’s eyes dart down to Garcia’s wedding ring, then go back to her. He shook his head. “Nothing.”

Anna looked from what to the other. A suspicion was starting to form in her mind, but… that couldn’t… but then again there had been that one film about the guy who wrote Wonder Woman… but on the other hand…

She folded her arms, indicating between the two of them. “You two are married to each other.”

Wyatt shot Garcia a look of utter panic. Garcia just met her gaze, his eyes steady, his face impossible to read. “Yes,” he answered.

“And Mr. Logan here says he’s married to Ms. Preston. As well as you.”

“Yes,” Garcia replied.

Wyatt looked like if the ground wanted to open up and swallow him that’d be just fine and dandy with him.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that you’re married to Ms. Preston as well.”

Garcia nodded.

“I’m also guessing that none of this is in any way legalized.”

Garcia shook his head. Wyatt looked up at the ceiling hopefully, like maybe an anvil would fall from it and crush him.

Anna sighed. This was so against protocol. “All right. You’re both allowed to see her. But for the love of God think up a better story for the next time someone asks.”

Garcia visibly relaxed and the relief she saw in his eyes almost made her want to cry. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“She’s in room 403, east wing.”

Both men were hurrying for the elevators almost before the words were finished coming out of her mouth.

 

* * *

 

She saw them again when she did the rounds later.

The woman, who must be Lucy Preston, was lying on the bed. She got a room all to herself, yay for good health insurance. She looked exhausted and pale, her dark hair spilling out around her, dark eyes barely open. She looked a bit worse for wear but still pretty. Anna could easily imagine she was beautiful when in full health.

Wyatt was curled up on the bed with her, and Lucy had a hand in his hair, idly playing with it. Her other hand was being held by Garcia, who was sitting in the chair next to her bed. They were talking together in low voices, pausing as Anna entered.

Garcia smiled at her, then turned to Lucy. “This is the nurse I was telling you about.” He looked back at Anna. “Sorry, I never did catch your name.”

“Anna,” she answered.

“Thank you, Anna,” Lucy whispered. Anna saw her tighten her hold on Garcia’s hand, her left hand—where another wedding ring gleamed.

Wyatt stirred, but Lucy quickly shushed him. “Go to sleep, sweetheart.”

He blinked up at her, saw it was Lucy, saw she was okay. Anna could tell the moment it registered for him that Lucy was safe, because his whole body went limp and relaxed. He glanced over at Garcia, got a reassuring smile from him, and then Wyatt was falling asleep again. Lucy’s hand continued to card soothingly through his hair.

“I’m just going to check your chart,” Anna told her. “How are you feeling? Any pain, discomfort? Do you need food sent up?”

“I’m okay,” Lucy replied. “Just kind of wiped out."

Garcia raised Lucy's hand, gently kissing the knuckles, his eyes never leaving her or the sleeping Wyatt.

Anna checked the chart. A broken leg, but no rod or anything needed. Minor concussion and apparently damage to the abdomen from lacerations. A shattered windshield?

Whatever the cause, she was lucky to be doing so well. A trooper, Garcia had called her. Anna had to agree with that. “Everything looks fine to me. Be sure to let us know if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” Lucy said again.

Garcia nodded at her.

Anna left them there, her head full of questions—how had they gotten together, how did they make it work, did people accept them—but knew she wouldn’t ever get any answers. And maybe it didn’t matter. Looking at them, Wyatt curled up wrapped around Lucy, Lucy holding both men, Garcia looking at the two of them with the very definition of adoration… Anna hoped she could find just one person to love her the way those three seemed to love each other. And, she supposed, that was probably the only thing that mattered at the end of the day.

Of course, five hours later when three agitated people, one of whom was British, burst in wearing period clothing followed by an exasperated woman who might have been CIA or something, all yelling and talking over each other and demanding to know where Lucy Preston was… Anna was a little less pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been wanting to do something for a while that showed what their relationship/interactions might look like to a random person.


	25. Priorities

It was about two weeks after the whole “Flynn proposing to Wyatt and Lucy” thing that Lucy sat up straight in bed and blurted out, “I don’t have to plan a wedding.”

Wyatt blinked awake. Flynn, predictably, was already up and out of bed. “What?”

Lucy had the same kind of look on her face that Wyatt imagined kids got when they saw a gigantic chocolate cake. “I. Don’t have. To plan. A wedding.”

“Um, what?” Wyatt asked. His brain wasn't exactly online yet.

Lucy jumped out of bed and tore out of the room, leaving Wyatt to stare after her in confusion.

“Flynn!” Lucy yelled.

It was only pure habit that enabled Flynn to catch her in time as she flung herself at him, wrapping her legs around his waist and planting a kiss on his cheek. “I DON’T HAVE TO PLAN A WEDDING!”

“You sound oddly excited about this,” Flynn noted.

“I don’t have to pick out a cake flavor or choose a dress or pick flower arrangements or decide on a color scheme or haggle over a guest list or put up a budget, I just get tax benefits and insurance.”

“Very romantic,” Flynn agreed dryly.

Jiya and Rufus entered, holding hands and still in pajamas. “What’s the noise about?” Rufus asked as Jiya tried to rub the sleep out of her eyes.

Lucy hopped down from Flynn’s arms. “I don’t have to plan a wedding!”

“…this is what I woke up for?” Rufus asked.

Jiya just made a tiny groaning noise.

“No, no, listen, guys, listen—this is fantastic, I don’t have to _plan_ anything—”

Lucy tore after Jiya, leaving Rufus to look over at Flynn.

“You want me to tell her about the Pinterest wedding board Wyatt’s got, or should I?” he asked.

Flynn closed his eyes and very slowly counted to ten in his head. “I’ll tell her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know where this came from but I just get the feeling that Lucy would not be big into the ludicrous amount of planning that goes into weddings.


	26. Hidden Talents

_To: Jess_

_From: Lucy_

_I can’t believe you. I thought we were friends._

 

* * *

 

 

One Hour Earlier

 

The bunker was mercifully empty and silent.

Lucy lay curled up on the bed, her face mashed into a pillow, and she was seriously considering never moving for God or money. Flynn was passed out on her other side, too exhausted to even snore. Denise was at home, Mason had his headphones in and was working on something in his room, and Rufus was helping Jiya run through some piloting exercises, which meant they and the Lifeboat were gone.

Nothing to do but accept the sweet, sweet embrace of sleep. It felt like she’d been running on jet lag and caffeine for months. She was warm, she was comfy, she had one boyfriend safe and accounted for while the other boyfriend played video games…

Wait.

Was that…?

Lucy sat up, bleary-eyed, blinking.

Huh. Someone was definitely…

She patted Flynn’s arm. “Garcia. Garcia, wake up.”

Flynn jolted awake, already reaching for the gun he kept under his pillow. “No,” Lucy hissed. “Listen.”

Flynn paused, listening. She saw the moment he heard it, because his eyes lit up. “Is that…?”

Lucy nodded. “I think it is.”

The thing was, Lucy could sing. She could sing quite well, actually, if you asked her. And she enjoyed singing. So when she was in the shower, or making lunch or something, she would often sing. Both Flynn and Wyatt loved it. Flynn would give her requests.

Flynn, on the other hand, was not exactly built for Broadway belting. But he had a low, soothing, rumbly sort of singing voice, and sometimes when Lucy was curled up in his chest and crying, or Wyatt was having nightmares again, Flynn would quietly sing out a lullaby, usually something in Croatian.

She didn’t let herself imagine him singing that to someone else, someone much smaller and younger than themselves.

But while Flynn was the go-to for lullabies and Lucy was on call if you wanted a Sinatra standby or a Disney song, neither of them had ever heard Wyatt so much as hum.

Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch.

Except that now, as they crept down the hallway and followed the sound to the living room…

Wyatt was most definitely singing.

He was _belting_.

He was _hitting a high note_.

Lucy could feel her jaw dropping open. She glanced over at Flynn and saw that his eyes had gone wide and his jaw slack. She was pretty sure this was the most shocked she’d ever seen him look.

They both stared as Wyatt half-danced around the kitchen, his back currently to them.

“Hamilton doesn’t hesitate… he exhibits no restraint, he takes and he takes and he takes and he keeps winning anyway…”

He was making a sandwich, of all things—and managing it better than Lucy would—which was perfectly normal except for the fact that he was also belting like he was at the Tony Awards.

“And if there’s a reason he seems to thrive when so few survive then goddammit I’m willing to wait for it. I’m willing to wait for it.”

There was definitely also some playing of invisible instruments going on. Including the drums and piano.

Lucy looked at Flynn. Flynn looked back at her. She watched as a slow, delighted grin spread over his face and could feel a matching one stretching her face wide.

They turned, still grinning, and waited for Wyatt to notice them.

“Life doesn’t discriminate, between the sinners and the saints, it takes and it takes and it taaaaa…” he turned and saw them, his voice dying away.

There was a good few seconds of Wyatt just staring at them, while Lucy and Flynn stared back at him.

“Um…” Wyatt pointed at the ingredients on the counter. “Want a sandwich?”

“You can _sing_ ,” Lucy said gleefully.

“Nope,” Wyatt said quickly.

“Wyatt, what are you talking about,” Flynn said. “That was amazing.”

“No, that was, uh, that was…” Wyatt’s gaze darted around, looking for an out. “That was the radio.”

“We are so doing a duet,” Lucy gushed.

“No, no, I don’t sing—”

“I’m not above bribes,” Flynn said in his _if you’re very good you’ll get a blowjob_ tone of voice.

Wyatt glared at him, blushing. “I don’t. Sing.”

“Whatever you say,” Lucy replied, walking over and kissing him on the cheek. “Feel free to not-sing any time you want, sweetheart.”

Flynn winked at him.

 

* * *

 

_To: Lucy_

_From: Jess_

_Is this because I wouldn’t tell you who lived in Game of Thrones?_

_To: Jess_

_From: Lucy_

_NO IT’S BECAUSE WYATT CAN SING AND YOU NEVER SAID A WORD_

_To: Lucy_

_From: Jess_

_Oh, yeah, that. It was in our divorce papers that I could never mention it._

_But now that you know, I have some recordings. If you want._

_To: Jess_

_From: Lucy_

_!!!!!!!!!!!_


	27. Preservation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on this post: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/175100873108/haveyouseenthesetimetravelers-a-couple-enjoying

It was like a kidney punch when Lucy first found it.

 _A Couple Enjoying Music at Carrie Johnson’s Juke Joint_ (1936)

The photographer was listed as unknown, and the photo was apparently found and provided for the history book by the Texas Amateur Historian Society.

She’d just been going through history books, trying to keep track of what changed and what hadn’t, trying to pinpoint where they already had been and what Rittenhouse might fuck up next. But it hadn’t occurred to her that she might find herself.

But there she was. Sitting at a table with Flynn, the both of them smiling.

That was the first time they’d started to really come to an understanding. When they’d started to become friends. And, of course, something more.

She’d had to take a moment and breathe. She was preserved. She and Flynn were preserved, in history, a special moment that they hadn’t even realized someone was saving for them.

After that, she’d started actively looking.

She’d found them a few times. In the women’s march, 1918. At a workers’ right’s rally. At a fancy dinner party. Her, and Flynn, and Wyatt, and Rufus, and Jiya.

Rufus found her at it one time, carefully cutting out a picture of herself, Flynn, and Wyatt in the back room of an LGBT march meeting. They’d been open with their relationship for once in order to fit in more. They were way in the back, a little blurry, but Lucy was sitting on Flynn’s lap while Flynn’s hand was caught up in Wyatt’s as Wyatt stood up to shout something (his military planning brain had jumped online and he’d been shouting suggestions until Flynn had grabbed his hand to yank him down).

The photo listed the various people in the room, including “an unidentified polyamorous trio.”

She jumped when Rufus entered, then smiled. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” Rufus tilted his head to get a good look at the photo. “Is that when Wyatt discovered he likes rallies?”

“Yup.”

“And he almost blew our cover?”

“Yup.”

Rufus snorted in amusement. “Why are you cutting it out of the book?”

Lucy pulled out her photo album. “I keep it in the Lifeboat. Under my seat.”

Rufus looked at her for a moment, then held up a finger as if to say _one moment_.

He ran off, returning a moment later with another photo album. “I keep this under my seat.”

Lucy opened the album carefully, passing hers to Rufus for him to look through.

It was filled with pictures of them. All of them. But here, in the bunker. They’d obviously all been taken by Rufus, so he wasn’t in too many of them, except for the selfies.

Lucy found her eyes filling with tears as she saw one of herself, Flynn, and Wyatt all curled up on the couch together. She remembered that night. Wyatt’d had a nightmare.

“Rufus… I don’t even know what to say.”

“It’s just in case,” Rufus said. He gestured to her album. It was open on a picture of himself and Jiya in the early 1960s. The caption read, _Interracial Couple at March against Anti-Miscegenation Laws_. “I didn’t even think of this. Thank you.”

“We’ve got to preserve our story.”

Rufus gave her a crooked smile. “Yeah. Our story.”


	28. Stealing Clothes

It was only a short time into dating Lucy that both Flynn and Wyatt realized that she had an unshakeable habit of stealing their clothes.

She seemed to prefer Flynn’s simply because of the size difference. His t shirts became her night shirts. His jackets were now her extra layer on trips. His sweatshirts were her cuddly blankets while watching TV on the couch.

It actually took Flynn far longer than it should have to notice. He just kept wondering where the hell all his shirts had gotten to. He somehow managed to miss the fact that the black sweater Lucy was wearing had the sleeves rolled up several times, and that the shirts she was wearing to bed did not say ‘Stanford’ on them and went halfway to her knees.

Wyatt had actually been the one to point it out to him when he’d entered their bedroom to find Flynn practically tearing it apart.

“Um, babe? You okay there?”

“I know I just did laundry,” Flynn said. “I know I did. I had my dark gray shirt, right over there, with the others.”

“Is that the one that’s really soft?” Wyatt asked.

He may or may not have often dozed off on Flynn’s chest or shoulder while Flynn was wearing said shirt.

“Yeah, that one.” Flynn looked up. “Why, have you seen it?”

Wyatt rolled his eyes. “You might want to go say hello to our girlfriend.”

“What’s Lucy got to do with it?”

Wyatt stared at him. “Have you really not noticed?”

“Noticed what?”

“She’s stealing your clothes, dumbass! She’s wearing that shirt right now!”

Sure enough, there had been Lucy, happily sipping tea at the kitchen table, book in her lap, Flynn’s shirt falling off her shoulder and pooling around her hips because of the length.

After that, Flynn just got used to finding his clothes in Lucy’s laundry hamper or on her person. One time, Wyatt had been folding clothes and Lucy had walked right up and stolen Flynn’s black turtleneck from Wyatt’s hands.

But what nobody had noticed for an even longer time was that Lucy wasn’t the only one to steal clothes.

Wyatt would never admit to it. And so far only Lucy and Flynn had noticed (or rather, Lucy had noticed and pointed it out to Flynn).

But on missions, when they ended up getting into a fight or interrogating someone and Flynn’s tie came off (he tended to yank at it when he was stressed), Wyatt would be wearing that tie by the end of the day.

On days when Wyatt lost his jacket and/or tore his shirt in a fight, Flynn’s jacket would end up around his shoulders.

And when Lucy wasn’t stealing Flynn’s sweatshirts, they could often be found on Wyatt.

“What?” Wyatt asked once, defensive, when Flynn noted that Wyatt looked good in his clothes. “Smells like you,” he mumbled as an afterthought.

Flynn never said anything much about it as far as Wyatt was concerned, and the only time he ever mentioned it with Lucy was when she’d taken his favorite gray shirt and the booming sound of  _"Lucy!"_  reverberated throughout the bunker.

But whenever he saw one of them do it, there was no denying the smug look on his face, or the way he preened, just the tiniest bit.


	29. Wonder

Lucy was just going around the bunker picking things up. Flynn's jacket from the last mission (which she had stolen) was found draped over the kitchen table. Wyatt's tie was in the kitchen sink where he'd chucked it after yanking it off while they got out of the Lifeboat. The earring she'd been looking for was at the base of the computer table. There were water bottles, empty mugs, etc.

To her surprise, however, she wasn't alone. She'd thought that everyone else had gone to bed. Rufus and Jiya were definitely up to something, if the giggling coming from their room was an indication. Denise had gone home. Mason was reading a book on programming in his room, and Flynn was passed out on their bed.

But someone was watching television. More specifically, they were watching  _Professor Marston and the Wonder Women_.

Lucy crept closer, wondering who the hell was watching the movie at midnight with all the lights off.

Then she saw who it was—and saw that—

"Wyatt? Are you crying?"

Wyatt jumped, literally, then hit mute and stared up at her. "Lucy."

Lucy walked over to him, seeing as she got closer that yes, in fact, he had been crying. "Sweetheart." She settled into his lap, letting him wrap his arms around her and bury his face into her neck. "What's wrong?"

How did he even get a hold of this movie? He had to have snuck it out of Jiya and Rufus's room. Lucy had seen it with Jiya and Rufus but Flynn had opted to sleep instead and Wyatt had avoided it.

She supposed that now she would know why.

Wyatt mumbled something that she couldn't hear. She kissed the top of his head. "I'm going to need you to speak up."

"This shit," Wyatt repeated. He nodded his head at the screen.

Lucy turned to look. It was the scene where the truth about the threesome's relationship was discovered by the neighbor, and a fight ensued.

"I know it's upsetting..."

Wyatt snorted derisively. "You know that's our future, right Lucy? That's what's waiting for us outside this bunker. If we even get out of this bunker and defeat Rittenhouse.

"I know that—that we're all kind of focused on defeating them and that's good. And we talk about what we're going to do when we get out but—but how much of a welcome are we gonna get, really? Polyamory, that's not—it's not exactly normal to most people. God knows we'll get enough shit for being bi already, bi sluts bi people are just confused bi people are..." His voice died away and he cleared his throat. "They're not gonna accept us. We'll have to hide. Make some shit up. And I can't—I know I'm private but I—I can't, I won't, pretend that you or Flynn are anything less to me than what you are. I could do that, once, but I can't anymore. I won't.

"But where are we gonna go? What are we gonna do? Where can we be where people aren't—where they don't—"

Wyatt's voice was getting thick again, cracking, and Lucy wrapped her arms around him tightly, tugging him to her chest.

She wished she had an answer for him. It was something that she'd considered as well, something that she'd worried about. But it hadn't been enough for her to fear. Not when they might die or even disappear from existence at any moment. When you were fighting a secret society hellbent on world domination, there wasn't much time to consider 'after'.

But she had thought about it.

She had thought about what it would be like in the grocery store. Moving in. Going to school meetings. How they would explain when she went to the hospital in labor? When they signed their kids up for things? Even just choosing who would be listed as the father on the birth certificate would be a mess.

And she had no answer.

"They won't let us be us," Wyatt whispered. "They won't let us be us."

Lucy held him as tightly as she could. "We'll figure it out, sweetheart. We always do. Because I'm not letting you go, or Garcia. You're both stuck with me."

"...I'm a lot like Elizabeth," Wyatt admitted.

"Stubborn, holds herself back from what she wants, hotheaded, worried too much about what society will think?" Lucy smiled into Wyatt's hair. "I can see that. But you know she was also brilliant, and loving, and loved."

"I wasn't asking for reassurance."

"I know you weren't. I'm giving it anyway." Lucy sighed. "And I don't know what's going to happen. I really don't. All I know is that if we're lucky enough to see the other side of this, I'm not going to let a bunch of nosy neighbors tear us apart. Not when time itself couldn't."

"But where will we go?" Wyatt pulled back enough to look at her. "I won't have my kids growing up with people bullying them for their parents. I won't—I won't put them through what I—"

He didn't finish the sentence but Lucy knew what he was going to say anyway. She hugged him so tightly she thought she might be hurting him, but he was clinging right back, the movie playing silently in the background, forgotten.

"They do make it," she reminded him. "In the end. They live together for the rest of their lives. We'll do that too. We find a way. We always do."

She heard footsteps and looked up to see a sleepy and confused Flynn standing in the doorway, peering at them.

"Why don't you come to bed, hmm?" she suggested, nodding at Flynn. "Things always look better in the morning."

Flynn walked over. "Did the dog die?"

Wyatt snorted in humor, sounding almost like it was against his will.

"We were discussing the future," Lucy said dryly.

"I thought that was supposed to be a fun thing," Flynn said, sitting down heavily on the couch next to them. "Buying a dog—"

"Two dogs," Wyatt interjected.

"—buying one dog to start out with," Flynn amended, "and all... you know... the rest."

"Wyatt pointed out that we're... not exactly welcome... in a lot of neighborhoods," Lucy said quietly.

A shadow passed over Flynn's face. "Who gives a fuck if they bring out the welcome wagon?" he snarled quietly. "They can learn to deal with it. We'll live where we want, and how we want."

It was the same Flynn that she had seen when they first met, the one who swore vengeance for his family, who would accomplish his goal and God help anyone who stood in his way. Lucy reached out, taking his hand.

"But we will deal with that when the time comes," she said firmly. "Right now, we have each other. We're surrounded by people who accept us and love us. That's what matters."

"We'll burn that bridge as we get to it," Flynn said, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards in a smile.

Wyatt didn't say anything, but he nodded, and Lucy felt safe in climbing off his lap. She grabbed his hand, though, and Flynn wrapped his arm around Wyatt's shoulders as she led them back to bed.

Neither of them spoke much the next few days, though, lost in their own thoughts. Held each other a little tighter at night. But after that, they all couldn't help but wonder...

What would happen, when they got out.


	30. Morning Routine

Flynn sipped at his coffee, the tablet in front of him, the news outlets playing their favorite game of _which horrible thing are you going to get angry about next?_

He sighed, putting his feet up on the coffee table in front of the couch. Sometimes he wondered why Rittenhouse was even bothering. The world was doing a great job of going to shit on its own without anyone else’s help.

Of course, they thought they were putting the world to right. Figured. The legacy of the west: marching into business that wasn’t theirs, taking it over, and making everything worse by trying to ‘fix’ it.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

The bunker was nice and quiet at this hour. Flynn had always been a morning person. He’d come to value it, growing up. It gave him some precious time alone with his mom before Dad woke up and things went to hell. Then, as an adult, it gave him some time to prepare himself for the day. Snatch some quiet before Iris came bounding down the stairs.

Not that he hadn’t always been glad to see her.

He took another sip and heard the telltale shuffling of feet. He grinned into his coffee, not even having to look up to know who it was. The way they dragged their feet told him.

There was the sound of the coffee maker rattling, and then some indistinguishable unhappy mutterings.

“Your coffee’s over here,” Flynn said.

The shuffling started up again and Wyatt plunked himself down on the couch. Flynn obligingly raised his arm to drape it over Wyatt’s shoulders as Wyatt fumbled for his coffee mug, plastering himself to Flynn’s side. “G’morn.”

“Morning, _Schnecke_.”

Wyatt laid his head down on Flynn’s shoulder. It was only on rare occasions like these, when no one else was around, that Wyatt was openly cuddly. He’d been getting slowly more open and relaxed but it was still only in the mornings like this where he would nuzzle into Flynn, hum happily, let Flynn softly run a hand through his hair.

They sat like there for a few minutes. Flynn kept scrolling through the news on his tablet, gently petting Wyatt, as Wyatt slowly came back to the world of the living with each sip of coffee.

Footsteps could be heard, and these ones were brisk. Flynn smiled. He recognized those too.

“You better have that coffee over by you, Garcia,” Lucy said, shuffling over with her arms wrapped around herself, cold despite having once again swiped one of Flynn’s sweaters.

He set the tablet down and held up the coffee mug.

Lucy snatched the mug from his hands and took a happy whiff of it, then proceeded to take a huge gulp.

“It’s hot,” Flynn warned.

“So are you,” Lucy shot back. Then she frowned. “That was supposed to be an insult.”

“I can pretend to be offended, if it’ll make you feel better.”

Lucy sank down not onto the couch but on Flynn’s lap. “Oops.”

Flynn gave a put-upon sigh and wrapped his arm around her, kissing her obligingly when she presented her face to him. “I’m starting to think you’re spoiled.”

“Starting to?” Wyatt mumbled, his sense of humor now starting to come back along with his ability to form words.

Lucy kissed Wyatt right at the little furrow in his brow, then on his nose. “Good morning grumpy.”

Wyatt gave a little groan, as if he’d only just realized it was morning and he hated knowing that, and buried his face in Flynn’s neck again.

Lucy perched herself happily in Flynn’s lap, picked up the tablet, and started internet searching God even knew what while she sipped on her coffee.

“You look up the Real Housewives again,” Flynn warned her, “and I’m filing for divorce.”

“I would never,” Lucy replied, obviously and cheerfully lying.

Flynn sank back into the couch, Wyatt a warm weight at his side. A moment later Lucy sank into him as well, curled up into his chest, humming as she set the tablet aside and just sipped her coffee with them. The others would be awake soon, complaining that Flynn hadn’t made coffee for them, as usual. Being boisterous. Filling the bunker with their presence.

But for now, it was just him and the two people he loved most. Grumpy, spoiled, and perfect.


	31. Glasses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little tiny one I apologize!

Flynn set aside his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. He didn’t usually feel old but when he’d been reading tiny print for over an hour with his glasses and he still got a headache, he idly wondered when the hell he’d stopped being spry and twenty-five.

“Oh, hey.” Wyatt picked up the glasses. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

“Only sometimes, for reading.”

Wyatt flopped down next to Flynn on the bed. “Can I try them?”

“I doubt you’ll improve your eyesight but sure.” That reminded him, he needed to talk to Denise about handling his prescription…

Wyatt put on the glasses and sat up, looking around. “Oh, fuck, I can’t see shit in these.” He laughed.

Flynn just about swallowed his tongue.

He had not expected Wyatt to look… well… like that young hip English professor with the tousled hair and who probably had a tattoo lurking under his shirt and quoted Vonnegut on the fly.

“Lucy?” Flynn called, raising his voice. “Could you come in here for a second?”

A moment later Lucy walked in, flipping through files. “Hmm?”

“Wyatt’s tried on my glasses.”

Lucy looked up and promptly dropped the files on the floor. Flynn grinned at her.

“What?” Wyatt asked. “Why do you look like that?”

Needless to say, they were late to the meeting again.


	32. Constellations

Flynn and Wyatt were dozing, both exhausted after the long day. Wyatt’s hair was still plastered to his face after the shower, and Flynn was literally still wearing his towel.

Lucy rubbed Flynn’s shoulder gently. “May I?”

Flynn nodded sleepily, rolling onto his stomach. Wyatt was already on his stomach but nodded when Lucy shook him and asked.

She tiptoed over to the top drawer and got out her pen, then went back to the bed, settling between them.

She started with Wyatt. He had a few larger scars on his back, while Flynn’s—through fate and luck—tended to be smaller. She drew the pen slowly over his back, connecting the scars along with the freckles, the pockmarks, the natural signs of life and aging on his skin.

Lucy tried to do a new picture each time, to find new things in the maps of the men’s skin. Drawing new art out of the remnants of pain and battle.

Still, she’d take the scars. It meant they’d come back. They’d survived, if not quite won, every battle they’d fought.

If she wanted to get philosophical about it, there was something in her that was determined to make something beautiful out of something that others might call ugly. But mostly it just calmed her mind after a long day. And the boys liked it. Flynn had even joked he should make one of her drawings a tattoo someday.

This time the scars on Wyatt’s back turned into a kind of abstract lion. Lucy giggled to herself and snapped a picture on her phone, then moved onto Flynn.

Neither man stirred as she drew. They were seriously out of it.

Lucy drew several small drawings on Flynn’s back, rather than one large one. A mask of some kind, a dancer, a sunflower. She snapped a picture of those too.

They were just silly pictures, but something about taking them made her feel less afraid. She should start taking pictures of other things. Make a photo album of some kind, like Denise’s flash drive. If she kept it on the Lifeboat…

Now, there was an idea.

Lucy set down her pen and admired the clumsy constellations a moment longer. It made her feel like she was one of the ancients, a Celt or Greek or from sometime even older, looking up at the stars and drawing stories because that was what mankind did, gave meaning to the meaningless.

But that was something to contemplate later, perhaps in the morning over coffee. For now, she tossed her pen aside and settled between the two men, draping their arms over her.

They were the constellations, and she was the space in between the stars.


	33. Prank

"Garcia?"

"Hmm?" Flynn kept reading his book.

"Garcia." Lucy's voice was firmer now.

He looked up. "Yes?"

Lucy held up a small, empty box. "You remember how we all got each other gag gifts?"

"...yes?"

"You wouldn't happen to know where the gag gift Wyatt gave me went, would you?"

"Why on earth would I know a thing like that?" Flynn asked, turning back to his book.

"I know when you're lying to me."

Flynn turned a page. "I'm sure that, wherever that gift has gotten to, you will shortly know where it is."

Not ten seconds later there was an almighty shriek from somewhere else in the bunker and then an outraged yell, both of which came from Rufus.

"ALL RIGHT, WHICH ONE OF YOU MOTHERFUCKING PERVS PUT A GODDAMN DILDO IN THE SHAPE OF A BABY XENOMORPH IN MY BED!"

Lucy put her hands on her hips. "Flynn."

He shrugged. "It was painted with fake blood and everything, how could I resist?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Janet voice* Fun fact! That dildo does in fact exist and can be found here: https://lustarts.com/collections/adult-toys/products/lust-burster


	34. Picard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picard the cat was originally mentioned in a chapter of "Like a Dumpster on Fire" where Rufus and Jiya mention him as being hidden in their room. Sugarsweetromantic loved Picard and encouraged me to feature him more, and so here he is, the bunker mascot.

Flynn knew something was up the moment that Jiya returned with Rufus from their half of the mission. “Jiya. I didn’t know that you filled out your shirt so well.”

Jiya crossed her arms over her suspiciously large and lumpy chest area. “My eyes are up here, Flynn.”

“And your chest is meowing, Jiya.”

Rufus coughed loudly, as if to try and cover the noise up. “That was me.”

“…you meow now.”

“…yes? I’ve always meowed? God, Flynn, and you call yourself my friend.”

Flynn folded his arms. “We are not taking that thing home.”

“Oh, come on!” Jiya pulled the—adorable but bedraggled—kitten out from under her shirt. “Look at him! He’s so cute, and all alone, and a pet would boost morale!”

“Denise would never allow it.”

“What Denise doesn’t know won’t hurt her. And it’s just the three of us, we can strap him into the extra seat on the Lifeboat.”

This was true. Wyatt and Lucy were both down with the flu and couldn’t get out of bed, so they’d stayed home.

Flynn sighed. “Look, I won’t tell, but if Denise finds it, I’m claiming I didn’t know about it. Understand?”

“Fair enough,” Rufus agreed.

 

* * *

 

Picard, as he was named after a lengthy battle between Jiya and Rufus about it, turned out to be the most beautiful damn cat that any of them had ever seen. He was elegant, sleek and soft gray in color.

The problem was that he knew he was pretty.

“You do not get my food,” Lucy told him.

Picard’s eyes went big and wide and he meowed piteously, his ears flicking.

“…okay fine. Just this once.”

Picard purred.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt jolted awake as someone banged on the bedroom door. “Denise?” Had the alarm gone off? Had Rittenhouse jumped in the middle of the night? It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Flynn!” It was Jiya. “Give me my cat back!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Flynn replied.

Wyatt rolled over to see that while Lucy was curled into Flynn’s side, none other than Picard was sleeping happily on Flynn’s chest. Flynn scratched behind Picard’s ears and the cat purred.

“You’re a filthy liar Garcia Flynn!” Jiya continued to pound on the door. “He’s my cat, dammit!”

Wyatt picked up the cat—ignoring Flynn’s protests—and carried him over to the door, opening it and thrusting Picard out to Jiya. “Here you go. Now let me sleep.”

Jiya started cooing at Picard about how _that nasty evil tree man isn’t going to steal you from me, no he isn’t, no he isn’t!_

"I am his uncle, Jiya! I get visitation rights!" Flynn yelled.

"Don't make me draw up adoption papers!" Jiya yelled right back.

Wyatt just closed the door and went back to sleep.

“I’m going to get you for that, Logan.”

“Put it on my tab, Flynn.”

 

* * *

 

Lucy and Rufus were happily playing a game of ‘Catch the Red Dot’ with Picard and the laser pointer when Mason ran in.

“Denise is coming!”

Picard was immediately scooped up by Rufus, who ran and hid him in his kitty cage under the bed in Rufus and Jiya’s room while Lucy grabbed the broom and started sweeping up the cat hair.

When Denise came in, Lucy was reading a book and Rufus was playing Mass Effect.

“Why do you two look like you’re up to something?”

“Up to something?” Lucy and Rufus looked innocently at one another. “What would make you think that?”

“Mom instincts.”

“Well, Flynn did set the toaster on fire this morning…” Rufus noted.

“Traitor!” Flynn yelled from inside the Lifeboat.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt, Lucy, Rufus, and Flynn knew something was wrong the moment they emerged from the Lifeboat.

Jiya was sitting there, looking sad, and Denise was standing there holding…

A very unhappy looking Picard.

Denise held the cat up. “Care to explain how long he’s been here?”

“We saved the day,” Flynn said. “Again. You’re welcome.”

“The cat, Flynn.”

“Um…”

“Two months?” Rufus hazarded. “Something like that?”

“You’ve kept this cat hidden in this bunker for—how did you even smuggle him in here?”

“Remember that time Lucy and Wyatt were sick…”

Denise plopped Picard onto the floor. The cat immediately ran over to Jiya, who picked him up and cuddled him.

“All right. Clearly the cat has got to go.”

“No!” everyone shouted, including Mason.

Denise looked over at Mason. “Really? You?”

“He possesses a quiet dignity,” Mason sniffed.

“Ohana means family,” Rufus said stubbornly. Flynn elbowed him.

“Please Denise?” Lucy asked. “He’s good for cuddles.”

“He calms me down,” Wyatt added.

“And he’s just so cute,” Jiya said, holding Picard up. “Don’t tell me you can say no to a face like this.”

“I can.”

“Shut up Flynn, you’re the one who feeds him too many kitty treats.”

“And where are you buying all of this pet supplies?” Denise asked.

“Did you know, thanks to inflation, that we are absolutely filthy rich when we go back in time?” Wyatt said. “I mean, one dollar gets me ten coffees.”

“We just finished up a mission, bought all the stuff we needed, and hauled it back and hid it in the Lifeboat until you left,” Rufus explained.

“And yet Rittenhouse consistently beats us for planning.” Denise rubbed at her temples. “Okay, fine. Since he can function as a therapy cat, you get to keep him.”

Jiya waved Picard’s paws in the air. “He says thank you!”

Denise walked over to the kitchen cupboard, grabbed two aspirin, and swallowed them dry. “And Michelle wonders why my blood pressure is up.”

 

* * *

 

Lucy was passed out on the couch, Picard in her lap. Poor girl was always overworking herself, Denise thought, no matter how much Flynn and Wyatt tried to get her to rest.

She picked up the cat. Her kids had always begged for a pet but with everyone’s busy schedules, there was never time to take care of one.

Denise looked at Picard. Picard looked at her. He blinked, slowly.

Denise carried him over to the couch in the other room, her de facto office, and set him in her lap, then picked up the files she’d been going through. “I suppose you’re not too bad.”

Picard looked at her with his big dark eyes and mewled, his tail swishing back and forth.

Denise scratched the back of his head. “But don’t be getting any ideas. Now that I know you exist, there’s going to be some discipline around here.”

Picard just purred.


	35. Proposal

Lucy woke up to find herself draped over Wyatt, her back cold. Flynn must’ve been up for a while already.

She rolled over, and felt something crunch and crumple underneath her.

She reached under her side and pulled up… a piece of paper?

_My first is found at the beginning of the day._

First… first what? First part of a riddle, presumably.

Lucy shoved at Wyatt. “Psst, sweetheart, wake up.”

Wyatt grumbled, rolling over. “Wha’ izzit?”

Beginning of the day. Hmm. Probably not the bathroom, and not the bed since the clue was here. However…

“C’mon, let’s get coffee.” Lucy threw on a shirt and grabbed Wyatt’s hand, practically dragging him out of bed.

“Coffee?”

“Yes, coffee, come on.”

She led him through the bunker into the kitchen, where there were two mugs of coffee and another note.

Oh, so it was like that, was it? Lucy looked around and saw nobody but Mason, who was reading the newspaper and sipping some tea. “Do you know where Flynn is?”

“No, but he said none of us were allowed to touch the coffee on pain of death so I presume this is something important.”

Lucy picked up the note.

_My second is among the chronicles of the dead._

Wyatt frowned at his coffee. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lucy frowned. Chronicles… “The history books!”

She grabbed Wyatt again, who groaned, taking a big gulp of coffee. “Luce…”

“Shh!”

She went over to the history books, scanning them. There, tucked into _Autobiography of Malcolm X._

Lucy picked it up.

_My third is on your favorite turtleneck._

Even Wyatt in half-asleep mode got that one. “The burgundy one.”

They found that in the bedroom, laid out with a note pinned to it.

“What’s this about… numbers? My first, my second, my third?”

“I think it’s the steps in a scavenger hunt?” Lucy theorized. “If we follow all the clues we find… I think we find Flynn?”

“What’s this one say?”

“My fourth is on…” Lucy paused. That couldn’t be right.

“It’s on what?”

“…it says it’s on Rufus.”

They found Rufus sipping coffee over by the computers. “Hey, buddy,” Wyatt said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You don’t have a note for me, do you?”

Rufus passed him a piece of paper without even looking at them. “Tell Flynn he’s not allowed to say I never do anything for him.”

That one said _my fifth is on the toaster_.

The green piece of paper was stuck to the yellow toaster that looked like it had come out of the 50s. Like most of the stuff in the bunker.

“My sixth is… under the place we call home.” Wyatt frowned. “What? Under the bunker?”

Lucy laughed. “Bed, sweetheart. Under the bed.” Flynn was apparently taking liberties with that one but although a loose interpretation it fit. They were always curled up in bed together when they said they were home—meaning that the three of them, together, that was home.

But given the location they always said it in, she could allow this bending of the rule slightly.

The note was, in fact, stuck to the bottom of the mattress.

“My last is the entrance and the exit,” she read.

Wyatt frowned. “That’s like… hold on that one riddle. I live at the beginning of eternity, at the end of time and space.”

“What?”

“It’s the letter e? The beginning of the word eternity, but the end of the words time and space?”

“I think he means the entrance to the bunker. It’s also the exit.”

“Something about this isn’t adding up,” Wyatt said. “Why have us moving around like this? Why not just have it all on one piece of paper? No offense but Rufus, a book on Malcolm X, and the toaster aren’t all exactly important milestones or symbols for our relationship.”

Moments like these, she could see why Wyatt had been recruited into Delta Force and chosen for the time traveling. “Okay. So there’s something we’re missing.”

She sat down on the bed and laid all the notes out. There were seven of them. “Okay… I thought these were all leading somewhere. Is it an anniversary?”

“Not that I’m aware of but you know I’m shit at those.”

“Your birthday?”

“No. Yours?”

“I hope not.”

What the hell, then? Was it just a random surprise?

They tried rearranging the notes to see if that sparked anything. Wyatt got another cup of coffee. Lucy changed out of her pajamas.

“I think we should check the entrance to the bunker,” she said. “Just in case.”

Wyatt sighed but followed her dutifully to the front door.

She paused, and Wyatt nearly ran into her.

Flynn was sitting on the ground, looking at his hands. He was also looking… worried? Nervous?

He saw the two of them and jumped up. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips, and his eye were unusually wide, his face a little flushed.

“Garcia?” Lucy asked. “Everything okay?”

Flynn opened his mouth to speak—then paused. “You, ah. Um.”

Wyatt walked over and tipped his forehead onto Flynn’s shoulder. “It’s Saturday,” he groaned. “Really, Garcia?”

Flynn automatically rubbed Wyatt’s back while he looked at Lucy like she was a train speeding towards him. “I was… you don’t… have an answer?”

“An answer to what?” Lucy asked.

Wyatt grumbled incoherently.

“The question,” Flynn said.

“What question?”

“The—what the letters spelled out.”

“Letters?”

Wyatt stumbled back a little. “I told you it was the ‘e’ riddle.”

“Okay then, what are the letters,” Lucy shot back at him.

“Um… Coffee was the first one, so ‘C’. Then the book on Malcolm X so either ‘b’ for book or ‘M’ for Malcolm…”

Flynn stared at them. “The first letter was M for mug. The second was A for autobiography.”

“Okay, so ‘t’ for turtleneck…”

“What? No, it was the color.”

“So ‘b’ for burgundy…”

“Burgundy?”

“The color of your shirt.”

“It’s red.”

“Flynn. Honey. It’s burgundy.”

“Well it was supposed to mean red.”

“R, then. Next was Rufus so ‘r’ again I suppose…” Lucy paused.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Wyatt was sounding out the letters under his breath, clearly not getting it yet.

Not T for toaster but Y for the color of it—for yellow.

Not B for bed but M for mattress.

E, the letter starting the words entrance and exit.

_Mug_

_Autobiography_

_Red_

_Rufus_

_Yellow_

_Mattress_

_Entrance/exit._

Lucy looked up at Flynn, her eyes stinging a little as she felt them get wet. Flynn flushed more as he caught her gaze and saw that she had figured it out. “Wyatt,” she whispered.

Wyatt paused, looking at her. “What?”

“I suppose I might have to do this in a more, ah, conventional way,” Flynn noted.

Wyatt turned to look at Flynn just as Flynn got down onto one knee.

Wyatt literally grabbed onto the bunker door handle for balance. “F—Flynn?”

“Marry me,” Lucy said. “The letters were supposed to spell out, ‘marry me’.”

“Only if you feel like it,” Flynn joked, trying to keep his tone light even as she saw him bracing himself for a no.

As if either of them could ever say no.

Lucy ran forward, throwing herself at him. Flynn got to his feet just in time to catch her as she threw her arms around him, burying her face into his neck as a sob shot out of her.

It wouldn’t ever be legal, no. But that didn’t matter. Like hell any of it mattered so long as the three of them agreed on it, made a promise to each other. Flynn wanted her, he wanted them, for the rest of his life. A man who didn’t make such promises lightly, a man who burned the world down for the last family he had, a man who was now asking for the chance to give that dedication to the two of them.

It made her heart swell, made the air rush out of her lungs.

She kissed him over and over again, until Flynn was laughing into her mouth. “I take it that’s a yes, then, _cher_?”

“You impossible—what kind of riddle was that, huh?” Wyatt demanded. He strode over and grabbed Flynn by the shirt, kissing him. “Yes, if only to spare the rest of the world from your stupid ass.”

“I could say the same, _Liebling_.”

Wyatt buried his face in Flynn’s chest but not before Lucy caught a flash of tears. Wyatt’s blush crept all the way up to his ears.

“You mean it?” she whispered to Flynn. He had said he wouldn’t go back to his family if he saved them, but that didn’t mean he might not have felt that his promise to Lorena still held. She hadn’t thought—hadn’t dared to let herself think—that he might extend such a promise a second time in his life. Not when loyalty was so entrenched into him.

“I mean it,” Flynn promised her. “I love you. Both of you. I want you to know that you’ll always have me.”

“And you’ll always have us,” Lucy promised as Wyatt wrapped his arms around Flynn properly, still not saying anything, just clinging to Flynn like his life depended on it. “Always.”

For the rest of their goddamn lives.


	36. Pillow Fort

They didn’t have a lot of furniture yet in the house.

Lucy had her mom’s money but she didn’t really like touching it or most of the furniture from her old house that was put into storage, and they’re all still struggling with the employment issue, and so until they figure that whole mess out it’s just random things like a couch and the mattress in the master piled with pillows.

Or, rather, the mattress was usually piled with pillows.

Wyatt paused, frowning. He’d run out to get groceries with Flynn was meeting with Denise and now that he was back, all the pillows had migrated from the master bedroom to the living room, joined by the couch pillows.

“Lucy?” he called, crossing to the kitchen and setting the groceries on the counter.

“In here!”

Wyatt crouched down and saw that Lucy was, in fact, inside the pile of pillows. It actually wasn’t so much a pile, he realized. There was a sort of structure to it…

“Did you make a pillow fort?”

Lucy beamed at him. She was still in her pajamas, even. “Care to join me? I think I made enough room.”

Wyatt took off his shoes and his jacket, then crawled carefully on his hands and knees until he was lying next to her inside the pillow fort.

Lucy laid her head on his chest. “Cozy?”

“Mmm, very.” He couldn’t help but wonder if this was a way for Lucy to… cope. Her claustrophobia made a small cramped pillow fort seem against her instincts, but he and Flynn had noticed that Lucy had felt very lost in this house. That she would wander from room to room almost like a ghost, and that she tended to stick near one of them and avoid the large, empty spaces.

He didn’t know exactly what she was anxious about, or how to help her. But he could go along with her when she did something like this.

Wyatt stroked her hair, letting Lucy rest, dozing on his chest. He heard the door open, then close, then the rattle of keys and Flynn’s soft, sure footsteps.

A moment later Flynn’s head came into view as he crouched down and peered at them. “What are you two doing in there?”

“Waiting for you,” Lucy said sleepily.

“I’m not sure I’d fit.”

Lucy snorted, not even having to voice the _that’s what she said_ she was obviously thinking. Flynn sighed, and then Wyatt heard him taking off his shoes before his husband was joining them, moving very carefully so he didn’t disturb the pillows.

Flynn turned and Wyatt shifted as well, the two of them moving so that Flynn was lying on his side, Wyatt on his back, Lucy in the middle. She grabbed Flynn hand, bringing it up to her chest and holding it tightly.

Flynn looked over at Wyatt, who just shrugged. Flynn gave him a tired smile and managed to reach over, resting their foreheads together. Wyatt draped his arm over Lucy’s waist, focusing on Flynn’s dark eyes. The corner of Flynn’s mouth twitched upward.

“How was your day?” he whispered.

“Fine. Uneventful. How’s Denise?”

“Good.” Flynn looked down at Lucy. “And you, _cher_?”

“Better now,” Lucy said softly.

Flynn nodded as if he expected as much.

“I used to build these,” she added, still whispering. “With Amy. When we were kids.”

Ah. Amy was back now, thanks to some convenient timeline jumps and, ironically, the machinations of Emma, but Lucy could never get back the innocence of her childhood. She could never get back the father who raised her, or the mother who was actually kind and loving to her.

They held Lucy for a long time, until it got dark outside, and Flynn suggested he make dinner.

But until then, they held her. In their pillow fort, of all places.

But hey, after the bunker… Wyatt figured there were worse places to cuddle.


End file.
